


Drew Davenport and the Game of Illusions

by onArete



Series: The Most Powerfully Magic Number [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Cycle 70, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, Hogwarts, Illusion Magic, M/M, Multi, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Starblaster - Freeform, Stolen Century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onArete/pseuds/onArete
Summary: The lines have been drawn, and Davenport is ready for battle.  Like it not, he cares about this plane, and he's going to do anything to save it.  But when his fights don't take quite the turn he expects them to, well... it's all Davenport can do to keep himself and his family alive.Playing the villain and Umbridge's lackey, Hogwarts just got a whole lot more complicated.





	1. Aquila, the Eagle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! Thanks for reading :) This will be updated every Friday. Hopefully, this work have longer chapters (and fewer of them). We're moving into endgame territory, folks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth year begins. Also, Death Eater politics, making friends and influencing people, and the Sorting Hat's warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!! Expect updates every Friday.

The sheer lack of information about Voldemort’s return was worrisome.  A captain, and tactical man at heart, Davenport felt most confident when he held all the cards-- or, at the very least, when he held enough good ones that he was sure he could fake himself the others.

But yes, Voldemort had returned last year at the end of the Triwizard (or perhaps more appropriately named Quadwizard) Tournament, after murdering Cedric Diggory.  Immediately afterwards, Mad-Eye Moody had become twitchier, dementors had descended upon Hogwarts once again-- and yet the Minister of Magic, a man for whom Davenport held a fair amount of dislike, Cornelius Fudge-- remained absolutely in denial that the Dark Lord had returned.

All that the newspapers and the Ministry of Magic were willing to acknowledge was _Harry._ And even though he was the Triwizard Champion, Davenport couldn’t help but notice that they had only criticism for the boy.

Which meant that the Ministry was setting themselves up to be against him.

Where they fell in the light-versus-dark conflict that was brewing, well-- Davenport liked to hope that they would remain a neutral ground.  But although he didn’t voice his worries to his crew, he wasn’t so sure. Governments were so easily corrupted, after all.

Over the summer, the inhabitants of the Starblaster lay low.  Taako spent a good month visiting with the Malfoy family and making connections among the high and mighty of the purebloods.  Lucretia often visited with Daphne Greengrass and her family, quietly meeting the rich and famous. Even Merle spent time with the Diggorys and Macmillans, somehow managing to make friends among the biggest supporters of Dumbledore.

Even Lup and Magnus played Quidditch with the Weasleys, and Barry and Luna Lovegood apparently were working on combining “muggle” technologies with magic--

All of his crew, all of his _family_ , were out there walking the walk and talking the talk.  They were making friends in this cycle, getting connections, playing nice with the powerful.

Gods, Davenport hated politics.

It was all about money and family and stature.  You could be the most skilled artist in the world, for example, and still be passed up for a painter with abysmal skills and a rich bank account.

And Davenport had never had any of those benefits.  Even in the “merit-based” IPRE, he’d had to fight tooth and nail to even get his pilot training, to become a captain.  In the end, he’d given it everything he had to be _the_ captain.   _This_ captain.

The one at the forefront of adventure and exploration.  The one who would discover the planes and the people.

And he’d made it!  He was here.

But somehow, the power struggles and politics of the rich hadn’t been left behind when Tosun V was destroyed by the Hunger.  If anything was constant among all the planes he’d been to, it was this. When there was sentient life, there was somebody in power, and there was somebody trying to wrest that power away from them.

Davenport really, really hated politics.

But he cared more about the plane than the politicians.  Which meant that Davenport was fancied up in dress robes (red, of course) with his wand sheathed at his belt, hair neatly brushed, looking every inch the rich pureblood wizard from America that he was pretending to be.

He sighed under his breath, and shifted a little, staring up at the ceiling.  He was attending as Taako’s plus one, which was a pretty weird dynamic altogether.  But even stranger was the party that he was attending.

Davenport knew that every other person there was a supporter of Voldemort.  Because Lucretia was with No Man’s Land, and Lup and Magnus had too many close ties in Gryffindor to play the villain, and because Merle had been aligned with Cedric last year--

And Barry couldn’t act to save his life, plus he was very obviously dating Lup--

Well, Davenport was the only one left who was still fairly unaligned.  Although, if this-- party? Gathering? Gala?-- went as planned, it looked like Davenport would find himself falling in with the dark side, as it were.

The Goyle Manse was large and spreading.  Davenport had almost expected a dark and dreary castle, with human skulls on the walls and large primitive flagons of drink.  He _hadn’t_ expected a garden, strangely beautiful, with the stars pinwheeling above them.

“Oh, Davenport!” somebody said, and he turned, straightening his back automatically.

Up ran Daphne Greengrass.  “I’m so glad you could make it!  I didn’t know you would be here!”

She wore dark green dress robes, hair pinned up around her head.  Everything about this version of Daphne screamed _old money_ and _pureblood_.  It was only through Lucretia that he knew her to be in No Man’s Land-- without that, he never would have guessed that her loyalties did not lie with the dark.

“I’m here as Taako’s plus one,” he explained, falling into step next to Daphne.  The two of them began to walk slowly around the garden, carefully steering out of the way of the adult partygoers.  As they passed the adults-- the actual Death Eaters and their supporters-- they went silent. Davenport figured that although he and Daphne were supporting them, that didn’t mean they got to know everything.

Which was unfortunate, because he’d probably have to go to _more_ of these events.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were together,” Daphne said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not,” Davenport said quickly.  “We’ve just been friends for a very long time.  He thought I’d enjoy the company here and the, ah... political preferences.”

The Slytherin girl nodded slowly.  Davenport could almost see her thoughts-- ‘he’s a Death Eater supporter, I can’t get too close--’ after all, Daphne had no idea that _Davenport_ knew she was part of No Man’s Land.  Had no idea that he was as undercover as she was.

“Well,” Daphne said firmly.  “It’s a good thing you’re not together.  Blaise is just _horrible_ after a breakup.”

“Boys,” Davenport said, shaking his head a little with a smile.

Daphne smiled back.  “Yet who can fault them when they’re that handsome?”

Davenport was almost one hundred percent sure that Daphne was gay.  And he _was_ one hundred percent sure that _he_ was gay.

So what was Daphne doing?

“Have you tried the eclairs?” she asked.  They wound past a row of bushes trimmed into fantastical animal shapes and towards the tables laden with desserts.  “They’re simply marvelous. Lord Goyle truly outdid himself for this gala.”

“Indeed,” Davenport agreed.  Somewhere across the garden, somebody was laughing, high and loud.  “It’s been a wonderful night.”

“And... you would enjoy doing this sort of thing again?” she asked.

In for a copper piece, in for a gold.

“I would,” Davenport lied.

“Well, then,” said Daphne.  “I’ll have to talk to Mother about seeing that you’re invited!  I know most of us kids here, at least, are in Slytherin, but we do enjoy having Ravenclaws here.”

“Thank you,” Davenport said, and scanned the garden for Taako.  He hoped that their mission-- get both of them further entrenched with the Death Eaters-- had been successful.  All he wanted now was to go back to the Starblaster, see Merle, and get the gel out of his hair.

It’d been a very long night.

\---

“So how’d it go, Dadn’port?” asked Lup when he trudged up the gangplank, yawning.  “Make friends? Influence people?”

“Well, hopefully,” Davenport said.  “I didn’t talk much to the adults, but I spent quite a bit of time with Daphne.”

“Greengrass?”

He nodded.

Lup nodded right back.  “Cool. She’s not, like, the worst of the Slytherins though.  What about the others?”

He shrugged.  “Small talk with Draco, talked Quidditch with Vincent and Greg--”

“ _Vincent_ and _Greg_ ?!  What, are they calling you _Drew_ now?”

“Unfortunately.”

Lup cackled.  “Gotta hand it to you, Dadn’port, you’re all in on this.”

“Next time _you’re_ infiltrating the enemy,” he told her.  “I had to talk so much shit I probably stink.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “C’mon, after all the times you tell us off, it couldn’t be that hard, could it?  It’s just pretending.”

“I don't like pretending.  Or politics.”

“Big worm.”

“...what?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.  Hey, where’s Koko?”

“He’s a lot better at talking to adults than I am--”

“ _Bull_ shit!  You’re Captain Goddamn Davenport, you know all about talking to adults!”

He sighed.  “I know all about talking to adults when _I_ am also an adult.  And even that isn’t my best, er, area.  When you’re a kid, they listen to you even less than when you’re a gnome.”

“So you’re making Taako-- who is _also_ a kid-- talk to them?  C’mon, Capn’port, you’re the _Captain_.  You’re the one we want making the adult decisions, not my baby brother.”

“I heard that!” Taako shouted, climbing up the gangplank.  “I’m older, thank you very much!”

“No, you’re not!” Lup retorted.

“Am too!”

“Stop!” Davenport said sharply.  Both the twins stopped and looked at him.

“See?” asked Lup, smiling.  “There he is?”

“Dadn’port?” Taako said.  “He’s been there the whole time.  You high, Lulu?”

“No, fuck off,” she said.  “ _There’s_ the Captain Davenport I’ve been tellin’ him about.  Listen. Dadn’port. You just gotta go up to those adults and _pretend_ you’re an adult too!  That’s what we did!”

“Next time you’re infiltrating,” he muttered, and stepped around Lup.  A soft bed sounded really fucking good right now.

\---

Fifth year approached like a summer rainstorm.  June passed in a blur-- July trickled by slowly-- and August picked up speed until they were in Diagon Alley, buying supplies.  And then before Davenport knew it, he was dropping off the rest of his crew at Platform 9 3/4, and flying the Starblaster to it’s warded copse of trees in the Forbidden Forest.

This year, Davenport walked through the forest all alone.  His footsteps crunched along through the dry underbrush, and he ignored the occasional creaks and moans coming from the deeper woods.

He’d never taken Care of Magical Creatures-- flora and fauna was always Merle and Magnus’s specialities-- but as he hiked alone back to the castle, Davenport wondered if he ought to have taken the class.

But he arrived at the edge of the forest without incident.

No problem, then.

He could live with that, though.  It was all about the illusions: he had no problem pretending to be something he wasn’t, as long as he remembered what was real underneath.

\---

Davenport fell into step with the rest of Hogwarts’ students as they clambered out of the thestral-drawn carriages and up the steps to the sprawling castle.  It was nice to be back. This was the longest the crew of the Starblaster had been on one plane since they’d left Tosun V almost seventy years ago. Seventy-five years, counting their extra time on the plane of magic?

Well.  They’d spent five years on this plane, and although he hated to become attached to anything that wouldn’t reset when their time was done, Davenport couldn’t help but be... fond of the place.

He slid onto an empty space on the Ravenclaw bench next to Lucretia.  The Prefect badge on her chest sparkled, and he was almost glad he hadn’t been given one like she and Barry had.  Long gone were the days when he wished for more petty responsibilities. After all, Davenport was in the business of saving the known universe.  And although he loved being in control of himself and his crew, by proxy-- well, he wasn’t eager to patrol the halls and tell off troublemakers.

Lucretia would probably have fun with the extra authority, though.  He was absolutely certain that she’d find a creative way to twist her prefect duties into something a little more... useful.

Lucretia smiled at him, distracted, and then turned her attention back up to the staff table.

Davenport followed her gaze, tilting his chin up to try and see over some of the taller students.  He’d hit his full gnomish height over the summer, and although he was sure Professor McGonagall would be willing to transfigure him taller (like she’d hid Taako and Lup’s ears) he didn’t want to go that far.  He’d spent years on Tosun V literally wishing to be bigger, but petty worries like height got tossed out the window when the apocalypse came.

“Who is _that_?” he hissed as the first years tramped in.  A pudgy woman sat next to Professor Flitwick, looking distinctly toad-like in bright pink.  A large (pink) bow sat nestled atop her head.

Lucretia’s face was grim.  “I already asked Flitwick. _That_ would be Professor Umbridge.  She is our new DADA professor.”

“She looks...” Davenport swallowed his next words.  He really should’ve learned to not judge people by this point, but... still.  Something about her was distinctly unpleasant, and Davenport was a pilot. He flew on instinct alone half the time.

“She was sent to us by the _Ministry_ ,” Lucretia said, painfully polite.  “Because Dumbledore couldn’t find a replacement DADA teacher who wasn’t actually Voldemort and/or connected to him in some dastardly way.”

“In fairness, Lupin--”

“Yeah, Lupin was great.  But, well...”

Her next words were cut off as the Sorting Hat begun to sing.  It went forward as always. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.  Four houses, founders, Hogwarts.

But the ending was... different than any of the songs Davenport had heard it sing before.

_“Still I wonder whether sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts in in danger_

_From external, deadly foes._

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we’ll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you..._

_Let the Sorting now begin.”_

“Foreshadowing,” Lucretia murmured.

Other murmurs filled the Great Hall, and Davenport felt a cold chill grow through his two gnomish hearts.  The Sorting Hat itself-- created by the founders _them_ selves-- had just warned the entire school about dividing.  Telling them that if they split Hogwarts at its seams, then they would fall altogether.

A horrible prediction, especially for the situation.

Davenport looked up at the teacher’s table, at toadlike Umbridge.  They were told not to split the school, but the Sorting Hat’s warning came too late.  Years and years too late.

Looking around the room, Davenport made eye contact with Daphne Greengrass, sitting prim and proper at the Slytherin table.  She nodded, ever so slightly, and looked away.

He desperately hoped that the hat was wrong: the dividing had already begun.

\---

“Hem hem,” said Professor Umbridge, cutting off Dumbledore's opening remarks.  “Hem, hem. Now, isn’t it nice to see such happy, smiling faces before me!”

“What side is the Ministry on?” Davenport murmured to Lucretia, careful to remain attentive to Umbridge's little meandering speech, that said a lot but meant hardly anything.

“They don’t believe that Voldemort is back,” she scrawled onto her slightly-stained napkin with the pen she pulled from behind her ear.  “Because they’re ignoring it, they’re open to infiltration by Death Eaters and supporters. We have to assume that the Ministry is compromised.”

“Damn it,” Davenport sighed, still smiling up at Umbridge.  “So, since I’m following Taako into the metaphorical dark side, I should get on her good side?”

She nodded slowly.  “She’s not here because the Ministry actually wanted to help us,” she scribbled.  “She’s here to keep an eye on Hogwarts. The Ministry is going to interfere.”

“And that means I get to help them do so?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Next cycle,” he muttered, “We are spending a solid _week_ in a spa.”

Lucretia smiled and pulled out her wand.  With a muttered “ _Incendio_!” her napkin burst into flame.  Waiting half a second to make sure the potentially dangerous words were burnt to ash, Davenport casually tipped his water glass over, smothering over the fires.

Well, then.

In for a copper piece, in for a gold.

 


	2. Circinus, the Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defense Against the Dark Arts. Also, betting under the table, class inspections, and angry pink frog demons.

The Ravenclaws had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next morning, which was just as well.  They might as well jump in headfirst.

Umbridge's classroom was frilly, and Davenport found himself very glad that he wasn’t in her  _ office _ .  He’s sure that the pink kitten “Hang in there” posters were only the tip of the horrific pastel iceberg.  The Ministry lackey herself was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

There was a list of objectives written on the board, and he scanned them with growing concern.  Lots of book learning and theories, but nothing whatsoever about  _ using  _ defensive magic.

“Hem, hem,” said Umbridge, and the entire class-- already silent-- turned to look at her as she minced her way into the classroom.  “Well, my  _ Ravenclaws _ !  The smartest bunch in the school!  Good morning!”

Davenport glanced over at Lucretia.  She raised an eyebrow at him. In fact, almost all of the students there looked some sort of annoyed already.  He’d lived with these students for the past four years-- Davenport knew that hardly any of them would describe themselves as  _ smart _ .  Creative, yes.  Innovative, absolutely.  Brilliant, thank you very much.

But  _ smart  _ left so much to be desired.

“No good morning back?” she asked, tone souring.

“Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” the class chorused.  Davenport already hated her so, so much. Taako owed him  _ big  _ time for making him play the dark side.

“I’m so glad to see your bright, shining faces!  Wands away, please!”

A grumble filled the room as everybody shoved their wands back into their bookbags.

“Textbooks out, please!”

More grumbling, punctuated by the periodic thumping of books as the Ravenclaws dropped them disinterestedly on their desktops.  In the front of the classroom, Umbridge began reading over her objectives, as if they couldn’t read already.

Davenport scratched out a quick note to Lucretia.  “3 GP says Padma calls her out on the magic use.”

She wrote back without looking at him.  “5 GP says Mandy throws her book across the room.”

“6 GP says it hits Umbridge.”

“Done.”

Davenport reached his hand down to his wand in his pocket, and cast an illusion spell. Illusions weren’t, unfortunately, a study of magic at Hogwarts, but the ones he’d mastered already worked just fine.  He watched as the parchment went blank, and quietly swept it back into his bag.

Indeed, when he looked up again, Padma Patil had her hand in the air.

Davenport had to hide his smile.  Padma looked neat and tidy, her textbook out and open, parchment out and glistening with ink as she’d dutifully copied down the course objectives.  And if the Ministry was compromised by the Death Eaters, then her pureblood heritage couldn’t hurt either.

Umbridge smiled down at Padma-- a sickening thing, pink-painted mouth twisting up in an attempt at a nicety.  “Yes, Miss...”

“Patil,” Padma smiled back, although probably not any more sincerely.  “I love how well lined out your objectives are! It’s great to have an organized class.”

“Thank you, Miss Patil.  Moving on--”

“Pardon me, Professor Umbridge?”

This time she didn’t smile.  “ _ Yes _ , Miss Patil?”

“Well, I want to do really well on my OWLs,” she began, “And isn’t there a practical part?  Will we be doing that in class?”

“If you know the theory, you will be just fine on the practical side.  Now--”

Sometimes Davenport wondered if Lucretia actually belonged in Slytherin, because just now, she burst into huge crocodile tears, almost sobbing.

“Miss--”

“Director,” Davenport said to Umbridge, patting Lucretia on the back as though to console her.

“Miss Director!  Compose yourself!”

“I-- I’m so sorry,” she wept, “I just... I’m really bad at practical magics... but I really really wanna get an O on my OWL!”

Umbridge looked very briefly overwhelmed by that.  “Well, Miss Director, perhaps we could do private study sessions later in the year.”

“Oh, really?” said Lucretia, blinking up at her through large brown, innocent eyes.  “That would be wonderful, Professor Umbridge. I can come talk to you after class?”

“Excellent,” said Umbridge.  Lucretia righted herself, wiping at her dry eyes.  Davenport gave her a thumbs up underneath the table.

Across the classroom, Ernie Macmillan raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr...”

“Macmillan, ma’am,” he said, kind of thrusting his chest forwards to display his shiny new Prefect badge.  “Perhaps could I be a part of these lessons?”

“Well, I don’t--”

He kept going.  “Because to offer outside lessons to one student but not another is a  _ serious  _ breach of student-professor codes.  It’s in section forty-three part b of the teacher handbook--”

“Hem hem!” said Umbridge, cutting him off, then forced her face back into another saccharine sweet smile.  “I will review my office hours, Mr. Macmillan, and, get back to you.”

“And me?” asked Lucretia.

“Yes, Ms. Director.”

“Me too,” said somebody across the room.

“Do not speak without being told to!” Umbridge practically shrieked.  

Padma raised her hand again.  Looking sour, Umbridge pointed at her.  “Yes, Miss Patil?”

“What’s your homework policy?  Is it more essay writing, or textbook reading... oh!  Perhaps we could do creative projects as presentations?”

“No presentations,” she replied.  Padma glared. “Homework is essays.”

Mandy raised her hand.  Davenport sat up straighter in his chair, excited for her response.

“Yes, Miss...”

“Brocklehurst,” she said, extremely quickly and loudly. “What’s your policy on late work?  What about a hall pass? Do you offer any extra credit? Can we--”

“Quiet!” she shouted, and the Ravenclaws exchanged looks.  This was Umbridge’s very first class period, and they hadn’t been necessarily disruptive at all.  If she lost her cool so easily, well...

“I will... prepare a syllabus,” she said, half to herself.  “Yes. For today, you will be reading the first chapter of your textbook.”

“Yes, but what are we doing in class?” asked Mandy, not waiting to be called on.

“Reading the textbook.”

“We’re doing  _ what _ ?!” she practically shrieked.  

Umbridge’s face had gone puce.  “We are  _ reading the textbook _ , Ms. Brocklehurst.  Now, do not speak without being called upon again, do you understand me?”

“I don’t know,” said Mandy, glaring at her.  “You’d have to be talking  _ sense  _ to be understood.  This is  _ ridiculous _ !”  She turned to her classmates.  “You get that, right?! We can do the reading as homework and actually  _ do  _ things in class!  This is a waste! Of!  Time!”

Davenport fought back the urge to give her a round of applause. 

“Ms. Brocklehurst!  Ten points from Ravenclaw!  Do  _ not  _ test my patience!”

“Oh yeah?” said Mandy, pushing back her chair with a scrape and standing up.  It crashed as it tipped backwards to the floor. “Don’t test my  _ bullshit  _ meter!  I am here to  _ learn  _ and if this class isn’t gonna teach me jack shit then I’ll do it my damned self!”

“Twenty points from Raven--”

“Shut  _ up _ !” she shouted, and grabbed her textbook right off her desk.  “Shut the  _ hell up _ !  You don’t  _ get  _ to tell me what I learn!”

“Yes,” said Umbridge, looking for all rights like an angry pink frog demon (just like the ones they’d fought on Cycle 16), “Yes, I do.  Detention, Ms. Brocklehurst, with Mr. Filch. Another insurrection and it will be detention with  _ me _ .”

Mandy just laughed.  “Is that supposed to scare me?”

Ravenclaw had a running tally of who got detentions and why.  It was meant to be a warning to the younger students-- their house lost enough points for not doing homework and such anyway, that detentions were frowned upon.  Plus, they took up your free time.

But even compared to the most trouble-making of seventh years, Mandy held the record.  Five hundred and forty-one detentions in the past four years-- well, soon to be five hundred and forty-two.

Gods help them if she and Lup ever teamed up on anything.  He didn’t think the planar system would be able to handle their sheer power.

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw!  Sit  _ down _ , Ms. Brocklehurst.   _ I  _ am the teacher!   _ I  _ decide what you will learn!”

Mandy’s laugh fell silent.  “You don’t decide a damn thing for me.”

And with a face set in stone, she heaved her textbook across the classroom.  It hit Umbridge square on the head, and she fell like a sack of potatoes.

Davenport really, really hoped she was unconscious, because tears of mirth were rolling down his cheeks.

“Class dismissed,” said Mandy, and stalked out of the classroom.

\---

Arithmancy and divination were held at the same time this year, too.  Really, Hogwarts should’ve figured that out by now. A quick seminar on “how not to double the classes for the same year group” should’ve done the trick, but no.

Well, he couldn’t complain too much.  With the time turner McGonagall had given him (as well as Taako and Barry) when they began third year, he could make it just fine.  But messing with time was tiresome, and he’d already had a few incidents where he spotted himself turning a corner. One memorable night, both Davenports reached for the same book in a library at the same time.

Trelawney was already on edge when Davenport and Merle and Lucretia climbed up the ladder into her muggy domain.  Almost immediately, he started spelling open the windows in the hope that some of the smoke would dissipate. After all, he did rather enjoy being able to breathe.

The professor’s glasses seemed to have grown a size over the summer, making her look even more bug-like than ever before.  Eyes magnified to larger than life sized.

She started going on about crystal balls, and Davenport let himself zone out.  Yes, it was their OWL year, but he wasn’t nearly as concerned about passing the tests as the rest of the fifth year students.  If he passed, great. If he didn’t, he’d just redo fifth year: great. Based on Lup and Barry’s calculations back in their first year, the Hunger would be arriving by the end of their seventh year.

So really, Davenport wasn’t too worried about passing his OWLs and (in seventh year), his NEWTs.  No matter what happened, a handful of standardized tests couldn’t hurt him at this point. And it wasn’t like he was going to need them to get a good job after graduation.

When they tumbled back down the ladder, full of bad tea and made-up predictions of the future, Davenport bid farewell to Lucretia and Merle.  Sequestering himself in a corner, he pulled the golden time turner from his robes, and turned it back twice. Around him, the world swirled as he was plunged into the past.

He shouldered his bag, and marched off to Arithmancy, ignoring the Davenport and Merle and Lucretia whose backs he could see, on their way to their Divination lesson.

Professor Vector was already handing out assignments when Davenport walked into class.  She smiled at him and handed him a packet. He was pretty sure that she was muggleborn, or halfblood at the least, because Vector had a pretty good handle on what an  _ actually organized  _ class should look like.  With a syllabus and everything, all printed on white printer paper.

“Welcome to fifth year,” she began when the last person (Theodore Nott) hurried through the door.  To Davenport’s surprise, Theodore came over and took the empty seat just next to his. “As I’m sure you all know by now, this is your OWL year.  It’s gonna be harder than ever: you can expect two to three hours of homework per class. But if  _ any  _ class can do it, it’s you.  I believe--”

“Hem hem,” said a chirpy little voice from the doorway.  “I trust you got my note, Professor Vector?”

“I did, yes,” Vector said.  “Please, feel free to take a seat anywhere.  Would you like a copy of the syllabus?”

Umbridge’s face twisted up into a sour expression, perhaps remembering her Ravenclaw class earlier that morning.  Davenport kept his gaze straight ahead. There weren’t a ton of ‘claws in the class-- most of them preferring classes that had less structured rules, with more creativity in their assignments.  He silently thanked every god that Mandy wasn’t in the class with them-- he didn’t want to think what Umbridge would do to her after literally knocking her out.

“Do you know what she’s doing?” whispered Theodore.  Davenport glanced at him, just slightly, to discover that he was talking to  _ him _ .

He shook his head.  “You?”

Theodore shrugged.  “I believe she’s conducting teacher assessments, of some sort.  She’ll be inspecting each teacher. She was in our Transfiguration class this morning.”

Davenport nodded.  “Hm. Why?”

As Vector started overviewing the syllabus, and Umbridge sat somewhat petulantly in the back of the classroom, Theodore leaned closer to Davenport.  “She’s making sure the Ministry likes what we’re being taught.”

He was keenly aware that the Notts were a Death Eater family.  “That’s good. It’s about time we got a little more structure here.”

“Yeah,” Theodore agreed.  “My father told me that she’s gonna probably be recruiting students to help her, hm... keep things in line.  Would you be interested?”

Taako owed him  _ so  _ damn much.

“Absolutely,” Davenport lied.  

A smile ghosted across Theodore’s skinny face.  “Then stick close to me, Drew. When things shake out, I’ll make sure we’re both on the right side of the line.”

Davenport smiled at him, and very pointedly turned back to his own syllabus, flipping the page to follow along with Professor Vector’s explanations.  Sure, he’d play the part of a nice little wannabe Death Eater and Ministry lackey, but that didn’t mean he was going to  _ like  _ it.

But he could judge the odds pretty fucking well.  They already had Lup and Magnus and Barry on Dumbledore’s side, or soon to be.  Merle and Lucretia seemed to fall pretty solidly in the middle of the divide. And he and Taako needed to do their part to keep it balanced, to make sure they could get enough information to the others.

So Davenport smiled and nodded at Theodore, and took careful notes on Professor Vector’s printer-paper syllabus.

In three years, they’d be able to move on, leave Hogwarts and the Plane of Magic behind them, remembered only in memories and Lucretia’s journals.  In three years, no matter what happened, everything would be okay.

From the back of the classroom, Umbridge said, “Hem, hem!”

Davenport stifled a sigh.  He just had to make it for the next three years pretending to tolerate people like her.  But he could do that, right?

After all, he was Captain Fucking Davenport.  In Magnus’s fond, drunken words, he could “deadlift the Starblaster while flipping off the Hunger, blindfolded.”


	3. Chamaeleon, the Chameleon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Umbridge on the warpath, tensions rise. Also, Jorts the owl, the Hogwarts Head Inquisitor, and a new badge.

Fifth year was their OWL year, so the homework was piling up.  Even with his near-century of magical experience and expertise, Davenport had to put in the same long hours as every other student.  It was probably the worst in Ravenclaw, he figured, because not a single student in their tower actually felt any desire to write the Charms Essay, or fill out a moon chart for Divination, or read the textbook for Umbridge’s joke of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

So even just one week into the school year, they were getting worn out.

They were Ravenclaws, after all.  They were book smart, sure, but that was secondary if anything.  Above all else-- even the Gryffindors-- they were independent thinkers.  Creative. Willful.

Cho Chang, a sixth year, was a pretty good example.  Davenport knew that she had a two-foot long essay due the next morning, because he’d overheard her friend Marietta complaining about it.  But instead of writing her essay, she was quite busy at a canvas, doing something complicated with her wand to handle a dozen brushes at once.

It was a very interesting abstract piece.  A lot more interesting than the Potions essay he was trying to force out.

Then again, he was looking for almost any distraction.  Tedious assignments, busywork... none of that was in the job description when he’d embarked on the Starblaster seventy-five years ago.

So when the heavy wood door leading into the Ravenclaw tower burst open, Davenport wasn’t the only bored student whose head eagerly shot up, hoping that whoever coming in would be doing something interesting.

The door slammed against the stone wall with a huge thump.  At her canvas, Cho Chang jumped, and her enchanted paintbrushes made a strange jaggedy shape, like a heartbeat on a monitor, on her canvas.

Into the tower marched Mandy Brocklehurst, head held high, with a familiar defiance shining from her eyes and etched into her face.

But nobody was looking at her face for long.

Her right hand, clasped tenderly across her chest, was bleeding down her arm and dripping onto the floor.

“Mandy, what happened?” shrieked Padma Patil, dropping her star chart without a second thought and sprinting to her friend.

“Umbridge,” she said, voice hard.  “Who’s good at potions here? I need murtlap essence.”

With her voice as a catalyst, the tower flew back into motion.  Cho Chang’s paint brushes clattered to the ground as she leapt to her feet.  Davenport shoved his essay away, running for the stairs to find Lucretia.

A cacophonous babble of noise filled the common room as he raced up the stairs.

“Pain killer--”

“Muggle or potion--”

“How’d Umbridge  _ do  _ that--?”

“Words?  Mandy, did she carve  _ words _ \--?”

“Lucretia!” Davenport shouted, rounding the banister and flinging her door open.

“What’s up, Capn’port?” asked Lup, sitting on top of Lucretia’s desk, painting her nails.

Lucretia, lying on her bed and writing with both hands in matching journals, paused.  “Is something wrong?”

“Mandy,” he managed.

Lucretia leapt to her feet.  “She just had detention?”

He nodded.

“Aw, hot diggity shit.  Lu, we gotta go help, c’mon.”

Lup stood up, casting a quick drying spell over her nails.  “Let’s roll. Although, I do want to hear what all this is about when nobody’s panicking, coolio?”

“Let’s just go,” Davenport said, dragging both girls out the door and hurrying down the staircase.

They ran over to Mandy as soon as they saw her.  Somebody had found a pain potion, and somebody else had conjured some bandages, but the bleeding kept going.

Lup muscled her way to the clump of Ravenclaws.

“Everybody move!” she shouted.  “Give her some air!”

There was a ripple as the ‘claws all moved backwards, but not much at all.  Just enough to make room for Lup and Lucretia and Davenport to squeeze in to see.

“What happened?” Lup breathed, carefully stretching out Mandy’s hand.  Words had soaked into the bandage, written in blood.

‘ _ I must not disagree with my superiors.’ _

Davenport felt his blood chill with anger.  Yes, Mandy was a halfblood, but Umbridge had  _ no right  _ to go carving her foul philosophies into her  _ hand _ .

“Murtlap essence,” Lucretia suggested.

“Yes, I said that,” said Mandy testily.  “But I don’t see any of us breaking into the potion storeroom to get some--”

“I got you,” said Lup, shooting her a salute and shoving her way past the cluster of Ravenclaws.  “Be right back!”

Everybody watched as she left.

“Is she actually gonna get it?” somebody asked.

Lucretia nodded.  “Oh, absolutely. Mandy, sit down.  Somebody get her some water!”

Terry Boot ran up with a water bottle, liquid slopping over the edges.  Fairly certain that Lucretia and Lup would soon have the situation under control, Davenport slipped out of the door to the tower, and raced towards the kitchens.  It was well past curfew-- he thought it was about midnight, or perhaps a little bit later (Ravenclaws weren’t big on going to bed at a “reasonable hour”)-- which meant that getting caught by a Prefect would be really bad news.

Maybe he should get an owl, like Barry’s Jorts.  Then he wouldn’t be stealthing through the Hogwarts corridors to try and find Barry himself.

Hearing footsteps, he stifled a gasp, and threw himself into an alcove, weaving a hurried illusion of stone over himself.  Davenport had yet to master this plane’s disillusionment spells, so all he could do was try to blend in like a chameleon.

Thank the gods for his levels in Rogue, taken a few decades ago on a slower cycle.  Without them, he was certain that Hermione and Pansy, patrolling the corridor in tense silence would’ve seen him.  They were very pointedly not talking to each other, or even looking in each other’s direction.

Probably because they were Gryffindor and Slytherin, and both heavily aligned with each side.  But Davenport couldn’t get Taako’s declaration of “sexual tension!” out of his head as the two girls stomped past his hiding place, Hermione’s eyes glancing right off of him.

Okay.  Keep going.

He scurried out of the alcove once the two prefects’ footsteps had faded away into nothing.  Once he felt fairly certain it was safe, Davenport rushed onwards. He kept his footsteps soft and light, like balloons-- or spaceships-- just glancing on the stone floor before springing forward again.

He was keenly aware that he couldn’t help Mandy.  Umbridge seemed too proper to carve the words with a knife, which meant there was likely some strange magic in place.  And because it was blood, well... the odds were fairly good that it was necromantic in origin.

He trusted Lup and Lucretia, he did.  But in case the murtlap essence couldn’t stop the bleeding, or erase the scar-- well, he would find their resident necromancy expert, and go from there.

Plus, Davenport knew, he was supposed to be playing the villain, acting as though he were Umbridge’s lackey and thought every one of her punishments was just, even deserved.  But he couldn’t go that far-- he couldn’t let Mandy bleed without doing anything. No illusion was worth that much pain, especially from somebody as young as she. As innocent as she.

He rapped impatiently on the barrels to the Hufflepuff dorms.

Hel-ga.  Huff-le-puff.  Five knocks, and the opening to the barrel vanished, and Davenport dropped to his knees, scrambling forward and through.

Unlike the Ravenclaw common room, the Hufflepuff common room was fairly empty.  Most of their students had been sensible enough to go to bed before midnight, or had been bullied into sleep by their peers.

A handful of bleary seventh years doing NEWTs homework blinked at Davenport as he scrambled to his feet.  He ignored them, though. They had bigger problems (see: NEWTs) than dealing with a random fifth year Ravenclaw breaking into their dormitory.

He hurried through the common room, and up the short spiraling staircase to the fifth year dorms.  He found Barry’s easily via the nametag on the door, and knocked hurriedly.

After a minute or so, the necromancer tugged the door open, pushing on his glasses with one hand and blinking sleepily. He was wearing his sleepjeans.

“We’ve got a situation,” Davenport said.  “Can you grab some shoes and come give us a hand?”

“Yuh-huh,” Barry said, nodding absently, and left the door open as he retreated back into his room.  It was a mess of books and papers and denim, but he unearthed a pair of boots and stuffed his feet into them, rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.

“Come on,” Davenport urged, hustling him out of the common room and the half-interested gazes of the seventh years.  They hurried through the castle halls, the cold air and stone seeming to wake Barry up a little bit more.

“What’s-- goin’ on?” he managed, panting a little as he struggled to keep up with Davenport’s brisk pace.

“Mandy Brocklehurst,” Davenport said quietly, aware that they were breaking curfew by a square mile.  “Detention with Umbridge. Cursed scar, I think.”

“Shit,” Barry gasped as they raced up a staircase that moved beneath them, swinging them closer to the Ravenclaw tower.  Davenport made a mental note to thank Hogwarts for her help later.

Davenport held up a hand to stop Barry when they reached the door.  “I can’t-- be part of this,” he panted, the sprint up seven flights of stairs catching up with him.  “Say that-- that Lup got you. That you’re-- in healer training-- or something. Some reason why you, you’d know how to help this.”

Barry nodded, hunched over, with his hands on his knees.  “Why can’t, uh, you help?”

Davenport made a face.  “Taako wants me to help him play a Death Eater.  So I have to pretend to like Umbridge.”

“Aw, that sucks,” said Barry, wiping away drops of sweat from his forehead.  “Shit. Uh, sorry, Capn’port.”

He shrugged a little.  “It’s... it’s fine. But I’m gonna go in before you, ‘kay?  Don’t mention me.”

“Got it,” said Barry, and stood to the side as Davenport rose on his tiptoes to bang the eagle-headed knocker on the heavy door.

“At the end of your flight, where will you land?” asked the knocker.

Davenport looked over at Barry, who shrugged, then turned back to the door.  “Home.”

“An unwritten future, but still possible,” mused the door before swinging open, and Davenport eased himself inside. The common room hadn’t yet cleared out, so it was easy enough to sneak upstairs to his dorm room.  At the top of the staircase, he saw Barry come in and cross to Mandy and Lucretia.

His crew was the best of the best, the highest and strongest and smartest that the IPRE could provide.  He’d interviewed them himself, passing up on more conventional candidates for his crew of seven.

And Davenport trusted them.  He really did. But it was still hard, so hard, to leave them alone to solve a problem while he went to bed.

Was this how Taako had felt for the past five years?

How could he have asked him to play this role so easily?

Davenport punched his pillow, and prepared his bag for the next day, and finished his Potions essay and a Transfiguration essay besides.  He didn’t sleep much that night, not even when Lucretia slipped into his room to tell him that Mandy would be fine.

\---

The next week, the school was abuzz with news from the  _ Daily Prophet _ .  The story on the front of the newspaper said everything: Dolores Umbridge had just been named Hogwarts Head Inquisitor.  In that day’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Davenport swallowed his revulsion for the woman, and obediently read the textbook.

After what had happened to Mandy, the Ravenclaws despised her to an extent.  But they weren’t Gryffindors, and their hatred no longer carried over to their lessons.  Instead, they were perfect, with only occasional mutterings from Mandy or Padma or anybody else who felt brave enough to whisper their opinions.

But even though Barry had managed to heal Mandy’s scar-- not remove it-- nobody pushed it to the point of detention again.  The fifth years felt like a buzzing beehive, straining desperately against Umbridge’s rules, but their energy was trapped, useless.

If Davenport had to guess, some of the Ravenclaws-- sadly, him included-- would turn to Umbridge herself and the Death Eaters to deal with this pent-up energy, with their anger.  The rest, he figured, would find a way to fight back.

Gods, he longed to join whatever grassroots convention was bound to spring up from their righteous hatred. 

But instead, Davenport stayed after class with Sue Li, who shot him a look.  They were there for the same reason, of course, but he couldn’t blame her. Taako had told him that her mother, a higher-up in the ministry, worked directly with Umbridge.  He figured that she was there on her mother’s orders.

The two of them, fakers both, smiled and swore their allegiance to Umbridge and to the Ministry.

The slim silver badge was in the shape of an I, and it shone against Davenport’s pressed black robes when he pinned it on.  As Sue Li attached hers, he swore she was trembling, very slightly. But he didn’t dare comfort her.

He wondered how many other members of this... group he was joining would be faking it, too.  Quite a large amount, probably: no teenager was inherently evil.

“It stands for Inquisitorial Squad,” Umbridge smiled, lips large and painted pink.  Davenport could imagine them on a toad. “You get to help me to make Hogwarts the best institution of magical learning that it can possibly be!”

Behind her back, Sue Li’s hands fidgeted.  Davenport straightened his back as much as possible, trying to channel Captain Davenport.

“You will be able to take points from your fellow students,” Umbridge continued, oblivious to their distress.  “And you will meet with me and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad every Saturday evening for a report! I'm sure two wonderful students like yourselves will fit right in?”

Davenport swallowed hard.  “Who else is in it?”

She almost beamed.  “I’m glad you asked.  Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Montague, and Warrington, as well as Misses Parkinson and Bulstrode.  As well as you two!”

“What will we take points for?” Sue Li managed, voice firm.

Umbridge smiled like poison.  “I will provide you two with a comprehensive list of Decrees.  I’m sure you’ve seen a couple of them go up?”

Yes, Davenport had seen them.  Stuff putting in a curfew, keeping magic out of the hallways.  Nobody in the halls without a reason to be there. And he got the feeling they were only going to get worse.

“Great,” said Sue Li, adjusting her badge with a shaking hand, betraying her nerves.

“You’re excused,” said Umbridge.  “I’ll send you two a note for Saturday!  Toodle-oo!”

They marched out of her classroom in silence, and there outside the door Davenport paused.  He knew he shouldn’t betray his cover like this, but Sue Li had only ever been tactful. Besides, she seemed scared-- and unlike him, she was only fifteen.

“She seems a little... into this,” he said carefully.  

She nodded a little.  “My mum works with her, you see.”

“I’m glad I’ll know somebody else in the Squad,” he continued.  He couldn’t betray his entire cover, but he could be a friend to her.  If nothing else, that was a good thing he could do. “I can’t imagine trying to face up against Parkinson on my own.  She could probably eat me.”

Sue Li was silent for half a second, then burst out laughing, and Davenport let a smile curve across his own face.  He got the feeling that where he was going, he would need all the friends he could get.

\---


	4. Sagitta, the Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea with Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad. Also, Quidditch tryouts, teamwork, and forty-seven step handshakes.

Like weeds creeping through cracks in the cement, Umbridge’s Educational Decrees began to spread through the castle.  Rules against magical joke product from Zonko’s, rules against breaking curfew, rules against removing food and drink from the Great Hall.  

Davenport didn’t like the rules, of course.  It was just a matter of principle, even though they’d yet to do anything other than enforce the rules Hogwarts had already had.  But because of the silver “I” he wore faithfully pinned onto his chest, he was, well,  _ supposed  _ to enforce them.  As much as he could, Davenport did his best to look the other way when rule breakers were around.

That Wednesday morning, a large owl swooped down to Davenport’s seat.  He forced himself not to flinch as it dropped a pastel pink envelope in his eggs and flew off again.

“What’s that?” asked Lucretia, taking a drink of over caffeinated coffee-- one of her and Lup’s requests in the new kitchens.  A coffee machine, with no limits on the espresso shots, which couldn’t be healthy.

“A letter,” he said, slitting it open with the (still slightly buttery) butter knife.

“No shit,” she dead panned.  “Who’s it from?”

Davenport pulled out the (slightly lighter pink) paper from within, read it over, and huffed a quiet sigh.  “Take a wild guess.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “The world’s favorite Head Inquisitor?  What’s she up to now?”

Davenport just slid the letter in front of her.  In cursive so frilly it was hard to read, the pink paper read:

“Mr. Davenport,

Please meet in my office on Saturday afternoon at 3 o'clock PM for the first official meeting of the Inquisitorial Squad.  Tea will be served.

Yours,

Head Inquisitor Umbridge.”

Lucretia made a face, and slid the note back to him.  Davenport nodded, stuffed it back in the envelope, and shoved the whole thing into his school bag.  That was a problem for Saturday, really.

Because besides the dozen or so Educational Decrees that littered the message board in the Ravenclaw common room (as well as being scattered throughout the rest of the castle), there was a bigger poster, with little animated quaffles and bludgers and a snitch on it.

Quidditch tryouts, that Saturday morning.  Two of their best Chasers had graduated the year before, and Davenport almost itched to take over their spot.

With the anticipation of the tryouts looming over him, it was hard to power through the week.  Umbridge’s lessons continued to be a joke, Divination continued to be monitored by Umbridge, and Snape continued to sneer.  All in all, a highly standard week at Hogwarts. But even so, the days seemed to drag on. It was harder than ever to hit twenty inches of parchment on a History of Magic essay, difficult to concentrate in Charms.  With Quidditch tryouts coming up-- and the horrifying tea with the Inquisitorial Squad immediately after-- Davenport both couldn’t wait for Saturday to come, and wanted it to stay about sixty planar systems away from him.

\---

But like it or not, the weekend did arrive.  Davenport went to bed early on Friday, and ended up tossing and turning, too nervous for the next day to sleep.

This is ridiculous, he told himself.  He hadn’t been unable to sleep like that since the day the Starblaster launched off of Faerun.

After a few hours, though, he got out of bed.  The Ravenclaw common room was still pretty full, and after a bit of looking around he found Lucretia.  She was sitting  _ outside  _ one of the large windows on a flying carpet.  Laying directly on her back with a canvas levitating above her, she was busily painting the sky.

“Hey, um, Lucretia?” Davenport asked, not wanting to interrupt her: but also knowing that, as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, he wasn’t exactly the most popular Ravenclaw anymore.  At least, not in their year. So he couldn’t really ask any of his classmates for the favor he needed.

She started a little bit, bumping her forehead against her also-floating pallette and fumbling about with the levitation charms before sitting up with a large glob of yellow paint above one eyebrow.

“...sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she said, floating back inside the window.  The carpet folded itself up into a roll, which Lucretia handed to him to carry.  He tucked it under his arm. “It’s getting late anyway. And there's a cloud exactly where I don’t need one.”

“That... sounds unfortunate,” he agreed.

“Need something?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, quieter now, not wanting to be overheard.  “Um, can you cast sleep on me?”

“Oh! Sure thing.”

In Davenport’s room, he climbed back into bed, and Lucretia levelling her wand directly at his face was the last thing he remembered.

\---

The problem with using Sleep to, well, actually fall asleep is just one little thing: the dreams.  They’re always wild and exhausting. So even though Davenport’d gotten almost eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, his dreams had been full of three brothers trying to cheat death.  There were three artifacts involved. It was all very convoluted, and in the end, the brothers died anyway.

The very least the dream could’ve given him was a happy ending, right?

Well, Davenport figured, dressing in his Quidditch robes, that’s the problem with dreams.  Illusions, really, just run out of control. The trick with illusions was to control them yourself: if they ever got out of hand, well... he remembered his older cousins telling him stories late at night about wizards who got trapped in illusions of their own creation until they died.  How true those stories were, Davenport would never find out.

He ate a quick breakfast in the almost-empty Great Hall.  A gaggle of Hufflepuff first years, a pair of Slytherin sixth year girls.  The rest of the Ravenclaw table was completely empty, as most of them had stayed up much later than he and Lucretia had the night before.

But at the Gryffindor table was Magnus.  Everything in Davenport’s bones told him to go sit by his crewmate.  Hell, fine, his  _ family  _ member.  (Son? Nephew?  Brother? Dad? No, not dad.)  But even though Davenport wasn’t wearing his Inquisitorial Squad badge at the moment, he knew the game he was playing, the illusion he was so carefully maintaining.  

And he knew that to keep it up, he wouldn’t be able to sit by Magnus.  Even if only the first years and Slytherin girls saw the two of them together, that was still too much.

You can only keep a convincing illusion if nobody sees behind the scenes.

Davenport sat a little straighter, and purposefully didn’t look in Magnus’ direction.  Sometimes you had to try not to look behind the scenes, yourself.

It was sunny and chill outside: perfect Quidditch conditions.  Davenport retrieved his broom from the shed, and because nobody else had arrived yet (he was almost an hour early, to be fair) he hopped onto the Nimbus 2000 and flew a few laps around the pitch.  He did loop-de-loops, dangerous free falls, kicked up the acceleration until he had to close his eyes against the wind and fly blind for a few glorious, heart-stopping seconds before braking hard.

Windswept and wide awake, Davenport soared back to the ground, pushing his broom faster and faster and faster, then spinning it sideways to stop just before he crashed into the grassy turf.

“Are you insane?!” shouted somebody.

Davenport only had time to dismount his broom before Roger Davies, a Beater and the Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, had jogged over to him from the stands.  “That was bloody brilliant!” exclaimed the seventh year, eyeing him over. “You’re trying out, right? Please, Merlin tell me you’re trying out--”

“I, I am,” Davenport said, straightening his back as much as he could.  He was still more than a head shorter than Roger, who wasn’t that tall himself.

“Brilliant,” Roger repeated, checking a large bronze watch he wore.  “There’s still twenty minutes or so until actual tryouts begin, so, talk to me.  Oh! What’s your name?”

“Drew Davenport,” he said.

“Cool.  So, Drew--” Davenport did his best to hide a wince-- “--what position are you trying out for?”

“Chaser,” he said.  He’d thought about Seeker, but Cho Chang had much more experience than he did, and was pretty much a shoo-in for the position.  And beater and keeper just didn’t have the exhilaration that chaser did.

“Nice, nice,” Roger said.  “Chambers-- you know her, right?  Emilia? She’s still around, but we need two more.  I think you’d fit in well with her style.”

“Thanks,” Davenport said.  He’d much rather prove his worth on the Quidditch pitch on a broomstick than by talking about it.

“You’re quite the daredevil,” Roger said as they walked to the edge of the pitch.  “Ever break anything?”

Davenport thought about seventy-five years of journey on the Starblaster.  Thought about dying eight times from almost everything, including a broken back.  Thought about his family, broken up so many times when members died.

“Oh, yeah,” he said after the pause got a little awkward.  “Lots of times.”

“What’re you guys doing here?” shouted another figure, striding onto the pitch with a broomstick over their shoulder.

“Emilia!” said Roger Davies, who rather reminded Davenport of Magnus: very excitable.  But thinking about Magnus made him think about having to ignore him, and tried very hard to put the sideburned security officer out of his mind.  Roger hugged Emilia, who pushed him off, laughter mixed with curse words. “Have you met Drew?”

“Don’t think so,” she said breezily, shaking his hand.  She had dark skin and close-cropped curly hair, and was a head taller than Roger, making her more than  _ two  _ heads taller than Davenport.  “Nice to meet you, Drew.”

“Likewise,” he said, really wishing that high heels were a practical shoe to wear on the Quidditch pitch.

“What’re you trying out for?” she asked, laying her broomstick almost lazily behind her so that it hovered in midair, and perching on it side saddle.

“Chaser.”

“Cool cool.  I’d be glad to have you on the team-- that is, if you’re any good.”

Davenport couldn’t help but smile.  Although he was firmly  _ not  _ supposed to get attached to anybody on the planes they travelled through, he couldn’t help but like Emilia and Roger.

\---

About two dozen Ravenclaws had turned out for the Quidditch tryouts.  Davenport watched slightly nervously, though desperately trying to hide it, as they all flew into the air as the Seekers tried out.  Their job: catch one of three snitches (enchanted to move slower than normal) with all the others in the air, blocking their way.

Davenport didn’t show off, not then.  He just flew about, slow, meandering between clusters of people as the wannabe seekers looped and dove through their midst.

About in the middle of the group of flying people were Mandy Brocklehurst and Ernie Macmillan.  

Davenport didn’t mean to eavesdrop: he really didn’t!  But he just happened to be there anyway.

“--can’t believe  _ he’s  _ trying out,” Mandy was saying, turning a lazy loop around Ernie.  “I mean, what if we both got picked?”

“That’d, that’d suck,” said Ernie.  “Like, what an arse.”

“Yeah!” she said.  “I mean, he  _ saw  _ what that evil woman did to my hand.  And then he went and joined up with her Squad anyway!”

“Can’t believe he’s, uh, in Ravenclaw,” Ernie agreed.  “You’d have to be stupid as hell to line up with  _ Umbridge _ .”

They were talking about Davenport.  They were talking about  _ him _ .

Try as he might, he couldn’t quell the burst of anger that ran up his spine.

He turned his broom in a sharp 180, almost running into Roger Davies, and zoomed off to the edges of the flying group.  He wasn’t about to let Mandy stop him from playing Quidditch just because he’d had to align himself with Umbridge and the Ministry and the Death Eaters.  It wasn’t his fault he was trying to save the planar system, Davenport reminded himself.

And Mandy was fifteen.  And she’d just had the back of her hand carved open.

He couldn’t blame her-- he would hate himself, too, were their positions swapped.

And yet he couldn’t help but feel almost betrayed.

There was a whoosh of air on the back of his neck, and he turned to see Cho Chang plunging at breakneck speed behind him on her broom.  Half a second later, she whooped, and pulled herself out of her dive, snitch caught in one hand.

Roger blew a whistle.  “Everybody to the ground!” he called.  “It’s on the board-- Reserve team tryouts are  _ after  _ the normal tryouts.  Yes,  _ after _ .  Everybody down!”

Once everybody was back on their feet-- or, in Emilia’s case, perched on her low-floating broomstick-- Roger clapped his hands together.  “We’re doing Beaters next. Okay, Beaters, over here. Seekers, please get off the field.”

There was some grumbling as a few people trickled off the field and up to the stands to watch.

Roger, a beater, flew into the air to audition the other prospective beaters, Mandy among them.  Davenport watched from the ground as they passed whirring bludgers back and forth like basketballs, targeted lines on the field, ran avoidance techniques.  Before he knew it, the beaters were back on the ground: Roger would make the decision by tomorrow, and post it on the board. After all, it was a bit harder to quantify a beater than a seeker.

“Chasers!” Roger shouted, and Davenport joined Emilia and Ernie and maybe five other Ravenclaws in the air.  A muscular seventh year with brown skin and thick hair pulled back in a plait soared over to the hoops, pulling on a set of Keeper gloves.  “Each of you gets to try and score on Arihi. Three shots, with Emilia’s help. Number of shots made is  _ not  _ as important as your teamwork!  Although it certainly helps!”

There was a smattering of nervous laughter among the chasers.  Roger turned his broom in midair to look at Emilia. “Who’s up first?”

She nodded his direction, jiggling a quaffle in her hand.  “Drew.”

Of course he got chosen first.  But hey, at least he couldn’t be accused of stealing anybody’s strategy.

They took the first shot slow, passing the quaffle back and forth between them, both trying to figure out how the other moved.  But before they’d even attempted a shot, Arihi shot out like a bullet from her position at the hoops, snatching the quaffle out of midair and pitching it back to Roger.

Laughter, as Emilia and Davenport flew back to their original positions, and Roger passed them the quaffle. 

When Emilia passed him the quaffle, he didn’t bother with going slow.  Davenport went as fast as he could, and the streak just below him meant that Emilia was keeping up.  He flew directly at Arihi-- she held her ground, getting ready to block his shot-- and then dropped the quaffle.

Below him, Emilia snatched it out of the air, and slammed it through the hoop.

Muttering, this time, from the flying chasers.

“Doesn’t count,” he heard a third year grumble.  “ _ She  _ made the shot, not him.”

“Last time,” said Roger amiably, tossing the quaffle to Emilia.

She caught it, and threw it directly at Davenport, the two of them staying well back and away from the goalposts.  “Wanna show them what you can do?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” he asked, catching the ball.  “I mean, teamwork...”

Emilia rolled her eyes, smiling.  “We just showed them teamwork. Now show them what  _ you  _ can do.  If--” she held up a hand-- “If Roger’s got a problem with it, I’ll explain it was my idea.”

“Stop talkin’ and start shootin’!” shouted Arihi from where she looped circles by the goalposts.

Davenport adjusted the quaffle in his hand.  Oh, he wouldn’t need to talk.

Emilia fell back into the group of waiting prospective chasers as Davenport flew.  He wasted no time-- up and down, left and right, loop de loops and bullet rolls and dramatic drops and spins.  And great keeper though Arihi was, she couldn’t quite keep up.

And just like that-- all by himself-- Davenport pitched the quaffle straight through the middle hoop, Arihi a million miles away.

Silence, when he turned back to the group, and then Emilia whooped, flying at him for a high five.

He ignored the dirty looks he got from the other chasers, especially Ernie.  Davenport held Emilia’s delighted grin and the feeling of plunging the ball through the hoop tight in his mind.  He needed all the good things he could get.

\---

Davenport hated changing back into his regular robes from his Quidditch ones.  They were just as comfortable, just as nice, but whenever he wore them he had to pin a small silver “I” onto his chest.  He wore it like a branding, mind filled with hidden hatred.

And though he hated the passing of time, too, three o’clock eventually ticked around, and Davenport found himself walking into Umbridge’s office.

It was like stepping into an intestine.  Everything was painfully pink, and filled with stuff he’s normally dismiss as ‘crap.’

Oh, gods.  He would swear that the creepy kitten plates, with huge electric blue eyes, were actually watching him.

“Welcome, Mister Davenport!” Umbridge simpered, seated at a round table with a pink and frilly tablecloth and tea set neatly arranged.  At it sat other members of the Inquisitorial Squad-- Crabbe, Malfoy, Parkinson, Warrington, a handful of other upper-years from every house that he didn’t recognize.

“Thank you,” he said politely and sat down across the table from Umbridge and next to Malfoy, who also looked like he was trying to be as politely far away from the pink-clothed professor as he possibly could.

Sue Li walked in a moment later, and sank into the seat next to Davenport.  Much as they both hated to be there, he couldn’t deny that it was nice to have a familiar face.

Speaking of, though, shouldn’t Taako be a part of this torture?  It was already three o’clock, even a little bit past.

Somebody started pouring tea, and Davenport took a large sip.  He was going to drag Taako into this Squad if he had to do so kicking and screaming.

Umbridge smiled at all of the students like a large toad looking over flies.  “I’m so glad all of you could make it! We’re just waiting on one more young man, now!”

As though summoned by her words, the door burst open with a bang.  Everybody turned to look, and in strutted Taako. He’d eschewed the traditional black Hogwarts robes for robes of bright purple, with a matching rhinestoned hat and plenty of draping fabric and a belt cinching it all together.  Davenport would put money on ridiculous shoes, too.

It really shouldn’t have worked-- Taako should’ve looked like a ballgown gone wrong.  But instead, he looked fucking  _ excellent _ .

Seventy-five years, and Davenport had yet to understand how he was able to make anything look good so effortlessly.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, not at all sincerely.

Apparently Umbridge was fooled.  “Not a problem,” she said. “There’s an empty seat here.”

Davenport bit back a grin.  The only open seat was directly next to Umbridge.  This was what Taako got for making a dramatic entrance, he supposed.

But Taako, ever the showman, just grinned and settled down like he’d chosen to sit there.

“Welcome to the first official meeting of the Inquisitorial Squad!” said Umbridge cheerily, taking a tart off the tray in the middle of the table.  “I’m just delighted to have such wonderful young students in here with me. Now, look at who else is in the Squad with you! These children are the best of the best: they’ll be the best friends you could have at Hogwarts!”

“Could we find a way to better  _ bond  _ as friends?” Taako asked, a shit-eating grin barely concealed.  “Perhaps, a friendship handshake?”

Davenport resisted the urge to groan.  This is exactly what he’d done the first Starblaster team meeting, and if this went as well as that had, well... it was going to be a very long meeting.  But at least it’d be the most annoying to the authority figure, and if it bothered Umbridge, well... Davenport could, perhaps, move past his dislike for Taako’s forty-seven step secret handshake.

Even if he only busted it out during meetings to try and waste time.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you accidentally write a chapter more than a thousand words longer than the others ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! please comment or kudos, it really makes my day


	5. Ara, the Altar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pressure rises in Hogwarts. Also, Educational Decrees, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and the misfit club.

****

“Is she  _ serious _ ?” asked Sue Li when she and Davenport got back to the Ravenclaw tower to see the newest Educational Decree posted on the message board.

Davenport had to rise up on his tiptoes to read it, and it sent an almost physical ripple of revulsions through his body.

The decree read:

“Boys and girls must remain six inches apart at all times.”

“...what the hell,” he breathed.

Sue Li leaned forward, putting her head in her hands and beginning to breathe hard.  “I... this is so...”

“Sexist?” Davenport offered.  “Homophobic?”

She nodded a little, face still covered.  “Oh, Merlin. Oooooh, Merlin.”

“Sue,” he said quickly, taking her elbow, “Let’s sit down, okay?  You don’t look too good.” Her face had gone ashy, her breaths coming quick.  Davenport had travelled with six other people for seventy-five years, and he knew exactly what an anxiety attack looked like.

Sue let herself be led over to one of the well-worn couches by the windows.  The Ravenclaw common room was thankfully pretty empty in the middle of the afternoon, the rest of the house spending one of the autumn’s last warm days out on the grounds.

“Take a deep breath,” Davenport instructed.

Sue sucked in a couple of shallow breaths, and looked up at him and made eye contact.  “I-- I can’t--”

“Yes you can.  I’m breathing, there is air.  You can do it. Take a deep breath.”

Hesitantly, shakily, Sue managed to take a breath.

“Now let it out, slowly.”

She did, hands pressed on her knees, knuckles white.

“Do it again.”

Davenport ran Sue through the breathing exercise that always helped Lucretia and Taako out of panic attacks until the panic faded away a little bit.

She looked over at him, rubbed a hand at her face.  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Being stupid.”

“No, you’re not.  That’s a... a perfectly normal reaction.”

“It’s just so...  _ stupid _ .  I mean, what’s she going to do about kids who sit by each other in class?  And in common rooms?”

“She can’t enforce it everywhere,” he said.

“--and what about same-sex couples?  This is all against dating, right, that’s the whole point?  What about them, huh? Is she really that homophobic?”

“We will be okay,” Davenport said firmly.  “Listen.”

And in that moment, comforting a young and scared girl who was far away from her home, Davenport made a decision.  He could play the villain for Umbridge and Warrington and Pansy Parkinson. 

But he wouldn’t do that here.

Only so many things could be illusions, after all.

“Listen,” Davenport repeated.  “We’re going to be okay. She can’t enforce that in here, she can’t enforce it in the other classes.  And if we’re lucky, she’ll get hit by the Defense teacher’s curse and be gone in a year.”

Sue met his eyes.  “She can't enforce it, sure, but...” she pulled the silver I badge off of her chest and flung it to the ground, angrily.  “But  _ we’re  _ supposed to enforce it!”

“We don’t have to,” he replied.  “We don’t have to.”

“My mother... oh, Merlin.”  Sue’s eyes filled with panic.  “I, uh...”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened here,” he said quickly.  “Because I agree with you. Sue, I’m dating another... boy.” He stumbled over the word man, before remembering that both he and Merle looked like they were fifteen.  “And I don’t think either of us are in the Inquisitorial Squad because we necessarily want to be.”

“...no.  I’m not.”

“Then you’ll be just fine.  As long as you remember who you really are underneath.”

With a sigh, Sue picked her badge back up, turning it over in her fingers.  “But nobody else likes me now, because of it. But my mom works with her, and... and I have to.”

“I understand how that feels--”

“Really?” she shot back.  “Really, Drew? Can you? Who’s forcing  _ you _ to do this?”

Well, he couldn’t get quite that honest with Sue.

“One of my friends is being forced to be part of it,” he said honestly.  “Taako. You know, from tv? And... and I couldn’t let him face it alone.”

She looked down at the ground.  “Okay. Um. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” he said frankly.  Sue reminded him of a younger Lucretia, with a lot more problems earlier in life.  “It’s okay. Sue, hear me out. We both have to... to keep up the illusion. But we won’t do it in the Tower, or when there’s no other Squad members around.”

“Even Taako?” she asked.

Davenport hesitated for half a second.  “You don’t need to pretend around him. I’ll explain it to him.”

“I... he does gossip, a, a lot,” she worried.

“He won’t, not about this.”

“How can you know?  I mean, you don’t control him, or anything.”

“Believe it or not,” Davenport said wryly, “I am his captain.”

Sue looked at him, and started to laugh.  Half a second he joined in, laughing with her, and for too brief of a moment the silver badges they both hatefully wore were forgotten.

\---

The next morning, Roger Davies posted the list of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team on the board.  It was bright orange, a brilliant stand-out from the sheafs of dreary Educational Decrees that had covered almost every other announcement on there.

Roger, of course, kept his spot as beater.  Seventh-year Emilia easily held her place as a chaser, as did sixth-year Arihi with keeper.  Cho Chang, in Arihi’s year, stayed on as seeker.

But the other three team members were new.

Kathryn Mendoza: chaser.  A fourth year with long shiny black braids and a quick hand with hexes.

Drew Davenport: chaser.

Victory welled up, the same sensation as vertigo, as a dive too fast and too close to be safe.  The feeling of wind in his hair and laughter pulled from his mouth.

But the victory vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived, reading the next name on the team.

Mandy Brocklehurst: beater.

And it wasn’t that Davenport disliked Mandy.  In fact, he admired her spunk, the way she absolutely refused to take Umbridge’s shit.  The way she always seemed herself, fully and truly. There were no illusions with Mandy.

But... she hated him, for his role in the Inquisitorial Squad.  And although he had partially revealed himself to Sue Li as not really wanting to be there, he didn’t-- couldn’t-- trust Mandy with that same knowledge.

Which meant he was going to play Quidditch, a sport where large cannonballs routinely tried to throw him off of his broomstick-- with a girl who absolutely hated his guts.  And even worse, a girl who hated his guts and whose job it was to protect him from said large cannonballs.

The captain-ly thing to be done would be to make a pros and cons chart and, if necessary for the wellbeing of the crew, not play on the Quidditch team.  It was only a sport, after all. Only for fun.

But Davenport hadn’t been Capn’port for almost five years now.  He would give and give and give to save every plane they landed on, but honestly... had he not earned a little fun?

\---

The next Hogsmeade trip, Davenport stayed in the castle.  His crew-- family, whatever-- had told him about the planned meeting for the Gryffindor-run Defense group.  He knew well that Lup, Magnus, Barry, and maybe Merle were planning on attending.

But he couldn’t risk losing his status in the Inquisitorial Squad, and besides, everybody else in that group pretty much hated him automatically by virtue of the silver “I” badge pinned proudly on his chest, shining.

So while Dumbledore’s Army established itself in the Hog’s Head, Davenport went to the library with Theodore Nott and did their Potions homework in silence.  As half the school banded together to fight back through learning, Davenport walked the walls of Hogwarts alone.

He wandered and wandered until he was nowhere he’d seen before, some high-up floor with wide-open windows and a sprawling view of the snow-dusted mountains all around.  It might have been up some sort of strangely formed tower.

He stayed there for a long time, sitting still and watching the night paint the sky.

This wasn’t an illusion, he reminded himself.  The cold stone pressed hard up against his hands.  This was real.

This was real.

Wand out, he projected illusions.  Stars, painting the night sky with the constellations of Tosun V, half-blurred with forgetfulness and star charts long since lost.

Around him he reformed the burrow he’d left more than a century ago.  His mother put a hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him, calling him  _ Drew  _ and  _ Sparkplug  _ and  _ Stargazer _ .  

He couldn’t feel her hand, because she wasn’t real.

Wand flashing, Davenport cast faster, furiously.  Through his family bled his found family: Taako and Lup bitching at each other in a cozy kitchen, Magnus carving a duck and getting wood shavings all over the rug, Lucretia in a bean bag with a mug of tea and no journals and Barry laughing at Merle’s horrible dad joke and--

The illusion shattered like glass, and in the middle of it, Davenport huddled into a ball, weeping.

None of that was real.

None of it at all.

\---

There was an emergency meeting of the Inquisitorial Squad the very next day, and Davenport wasn’t fool enough to believe it to be entirely disconnected from the meeting in the Hog’s Head that he hadn’t attended.

This time, there was no tea set prepared.  Umbridge had a pink bow set in her hair, but she was scowling at even her most “loyal” students.

“A new Educational Decree was posted this morning,” she glared.  “All student meetings larger than three are now prohibited without express permission from me!  Any incidents seen without a proper form should be reported  _ immediately  _ to me.  Do you understand me?   _ Immediately _ .”

“Absolutely,” Taako said, dragging out the word into half a dozen syllables.

She nodded like hammering a nail, and the meeting adjourned.

Although some of the more eager members of the Inquisitorial Squad raced away to try and bust up innocent gatherings of students they didn’t like, Davenport could feel his heart sinking.  Even so, he walked up to Umbridge.

“May I get a form for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?” he asked politely.  “I’m a Chaser.”

“Of course,” simpered Umbridge, handing him a paper.  “Have the captain fill it out and bring it back to me.”

He thanked her, and hurried out of the room as fast as he could.  Taako and Sue Li had already left, so he wandered back to the Ravenclaw tower on his own, flipping through the packet of information they’d have to fill out to keep their team.

Most of it seemed pretty standard.  Name of the club. Staff advisor. Meeting times and locations.   Rote, routine stuff that Hogwarts probably should’ve been documenting anyway.

But on the second page, it took a turn for the worse.  

Names of all the club members.  Blood status of all the members.  Sighed permission for the Head Inquisitor to disband the club without explanation.  

Davenport couldn’t stop a surge of anger as he stomped up the Tower stairs, into the common room, and right over to Roger Davies as the seventh year beater worked furiously on an essay by the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, smiling down at him.

“Hey, Drew,” said Roger, yawning and accidentally swiping ink onto his cheek.  “What’s up?”

“All clubs have to register with Umbridge now,” Davenport said, handing him the form, now slightly wrinkled by his tight handhold.  “I grabbed the form for Quidditch. We ought to get it in as soon as possible so we can start practice tomorrow as planned.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, shifting over to make room for Davenport on the couch as he began paging through it.  “You’re in her Squad, thing?”

“Yes,” he said, almost sharply.

Roger shrugged.  “Alright, then. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons.  You seem like a smart kid.”

Davenport recognized this for what it was: a chastisement, disappointment, but a confidence that he’d figure his way out of the mess.  He really hoped he was hiding the way it felt like a punch to the gut.

Davenport was a smart kid, yes.  A smart gnome, a brilliant engineer, an intelligent captain, and a borderline genius pilot.  He was smart enough to know when to cut his losses. And right now, although every inch of his heart was screaming against it, Davenport followed his brain.

He nodded politely at Roger, and turned away before the older boy could get to the question about blood status.

Davenport followed his head, and ignored the way his chest ached as he walked away.

\---

Quidditch practice wasn’t quite as horrible as Davenport had been imagining, but not by a lot.  The other two chasers, Emilia and Kathryn, didn’t seem to have a problem (or at least one they let him know about) with his membership in the Inquisitorial Squad.

Roger Davies himself was nice about it, although he clearly didn’t approve.  Arihi, the keeper, seemed more interested in trying to teach him more and more dangerous maneuvers to care about some Squad.

Cho Chang pretty much ignored Davenport, which was fine by him.

But it was Mandy’s subtle, under her breath but designed to be heard, comments that really got to him.

Flying in formation with Emilia and Kathryn, she swooped by, muttering, “Traitor.”  Flinging a shot-- not lucky, never luck, he’s too good to need it-- past Arihi’s outstretched arms, she flew past, whispering, “Bootlicker.”

And as Roger Davies called everybody back to the ground after a few hours for tactics review, she murmured, “Coward.”

The quaffle in his hands slipped out, Emilia barely catching it before it hit the ground.  The seventh year looked up at him as he landed roughly, swinging his broom hard up onto his shoulder.

“Drew?  You okay?”

He bit back a snarl, swallowed his pride.  Well, tried to.

“Fine,” he managed, and held his back straight and tall while Roger went over that day’s practice.  He tried to tune out Mandy’s occasional insults, staring straight ahead at a wisp of cloud over the Black Lake.

Davenport held himself together with nothing more than an iron will, but cried once he made it back to the safety of his dorm room.

He loved this plane, he really did.  Magical castles and sorting hats and infinite spell slots.  Adventure around every corner and floating candles and sports played on broomsticks.

Yes, Davenport loved this plane of magic.

But he couldn’t help but long to be anywhere else, just for a moment.

He took a moment: a long one, too.

He took a moment, and then showered and changed and pinned his silver “I” badge back onto his chest.  Davenport combed his hair back and polished his wand and stood straight and tall as he walked down to the Great Hall for dinner.

\---

The next week the Ravenclaw quidditch team all sat together to watch the first match of the season: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.  Roger Davies kept up a steady stream of whispers under his breath about goal tactics and defense positions and something about seekers that Davenport couldn’t quite make out.

At least he was seperated from Mandy by the rest of the team.  A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

A chorus of song winds its way over from the Slytherin bleachers.  Weasley, as they say, is our king. Davenport almost feels bad for the kid and his abysmal keeper performance.  He can see Magnus starting to tear up about it in the Gryffindor stands.

Potter catches the snitch, and Gryffindor ekes out a victory.  Roger mumbles something about chaser formations and seeker distractions.  Emilia pokes Davenport in the arm, and he starts.

“What?”

“Look,” she says, trying not to grin.  On the pitch, Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle are in a screaming match with Potter and three Weasleys, the one in his year and the older twins.  “Oh, Merlin. What are they  _ doing _ ?”

Davenport doesn’t have an answer, because by the time he can find words they’re already fist-fighting and being dragged apart, Umbridge on a speaker somewhere banning Potter and the Weasley boys from Quidditch forever.

This is good for the Ravenclaw quidditch team, and yet they all find silent.  A  _ lifetime  _ ban?  For one little spat?

Sure it’s because Potter’s the king of Gryffindor and the Weasleys are of course going to be opposing Umbridge and the Ministry and the Death Eaters, but still... a  _ lifetime _ ?

There’s a moment of painful silence, of sympathy, of loss.  And then the hubbub of the crowd picks up again, and their petty sacrifice is gone like it never even happened.

“Well,” says Arihi on his other side, like she’s bracing herself, “That’s better for us, I guess.”

\---

Autumn semester slid by slowly, like a car drifting and drifting and drifting, the driver too afraid to correct the course.  Davenport organized Starblaster crew meetings every Thursday like a lifeline.

And as he attended Inquisitorial Squad teas and luncheons and sucked up to Ministry thugs-- as he did homework with Theodore Nott and made small talk with Daphne Greengrass-- as he only went on double dates with Merle with a Slytherin pair (usually Taako and Blaise Zabini)--

Well, those Thursday night meetings had almost literally become a life preserver.  They were the only place he could relax from Umbridge’s watchful, beady eyes and Mandy’s hissed insults and palpable hatred that had only increased throughout the year.

He felt the tension leaking out of his shoulders as he knocked and crawled his way into the Hufflepuff common room the Thursday before term ended.  The students in the common room-- a mix of all the houses and years-- gave him suspicious looks, but he knew that was only because of the “I” on his chest.

It was okay, he told himself, easing into the meeting room.  It was okay.

Lup and Magnus were already there, playing some game where they batted a semi-tangible ball of light back and forth between themselves with their wands.

“‘Sup, Capn’port!” said Magnus, smiling, and getting hit on the forehead with the ball of light for his distraction.

“Hey, Magnus, Lup,” said Davenport, settling down into a chair as the door creaked open and Lucretia and Merle walked in.

“What’s crackin’?” asked Merle with a grin, kissing Davenport before sitting down next to him, their hands intertwined.

Lup sighed a little, the ball of light fading to nothing.  “It has... not been great in Gryffindor right now, to be honest.”

“Why not?” asked Merle, as the door opened and in stepped Taako, followed almost immediately by Bary, who shut the door quietly behind them.

She shrugged.  “Everybody’s pissed off at Umbridge.  Inquisitorial Squad. Same old, same old.”

“How’s the defense group?” asked Lucretia.

“Dumbledore’s Army?  Yeah, it’s good,” she admitted, stretching her arms above her head.  “Harry’s doing a pretty bang-up job. And he let me teach the evocation spells!”

Barry offered a hand for a high-five.  Lup high-fived him, and then dabbed.

“We got a meeting tonight, right?” asked Merle to the other members of Dumbledore’s Army.

Magnus nodded.  “Yup. Last one before break.  Guys?”

“Yes?” said Davenport.

“I can’t fucking wait for Space Candlenights.”

Taako snickered, and that broke the tension like ice.  Suddenly the whole crew was laughing and teasing, falling back into their old habits if only for a minute or two before quieting down once again.

“So we’re gonna have to leave,” said Lup, grabbing Barry’s arm to check his watch.  “About... now.”

“Bye, goofus!” Taako shouted as Lup, Magnus, Barry, and Merle filtered out of the meeting room.

“Fuck off, dingus!” Lup shouted back, cheerful.

Taako smiled until the four of them vanished from sight, and then the expression dropped from his face so fast it would’ve been funny had it not been so sad.

“Cheers,” said Lucretia drily as the door slammed behind Barry.

“Yeah,” Davenport sighed.  

“Well,” said Taako, voice bracing but face fallen, “Here’s the misfit club.”

“Do you two...” Davenport paused, tripping over his words.  “Do you two wish, wish you were on the other side? The good guys, or whatever?”

“Yes,” Lucretia admitted slowly.  “Sometimes.”

Taako shrugged, braid falling in front of his shoulder.  “I mean, it could be cool, not having the rest of the school hate me or whatever, but I mean, gotta keep with the aesthetic amiright?”

Davenport dropped his head into his hands.  “I’m sorry,” he said to the table. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.  I... I’m so sorry.”

Something hit him on the top of his head, and he looked up, startled, to find a quill sitting on the table.  That, based on his position, Taako had just thrown at him. “Fuck you,” Taako said, almost cheerfully. “You don’t  _ get  _ to choose what we do, kapish?  The fuckin’ hat or whatever sent me to Slytherin, and it was  _ my choice  _ what I did there.”

“But--”

“Yeah,” Lucretia agreed.  “Davenport, we all knew what we were getting into.  We--”

“But you  _ didn’t _ !” he protested.  “This year-- hell, these past  _ seventy  _ years--!”

Taako stood up, his chair falling backwards and crashing onto the floor.  “ _ Fuck  _ that shit, Capn’port!  You aren’t the Hunger, you aren’t Voldy-mort or whatever shitty fantasy French name he’s got, you didn’t choose  _ any  _ of this!”

“I--”

“No!  None of that!  Listen, you, uh, you don’t  _ get  _ to blame yourself for everything.  You’ve done everything you fuckin’ could to save these worlds, and, and uh,  _ fuck  _ that.  Not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you--”

“I!  Make!  My  _ own _ ! Decisions!” Taako shouted.  “You don’t  _ ask me  _ or  _ make me  _ or  _ force me  _ to do anything.  I’m a, I’m independent!”

“Yeah,” Lucretia agreed, softer but no less forceful.  “Davenport. None of this is your fault. We want to save this plane as much as you do, and this is our decision as much as it is yours.”

“But I--”

“Fuck it,” Taako moaned, grabbing Lucretia out of her chair.  “Group hug. Uh,  _ nobody  _ is allowed to tell Lup about--”

He didn’t get to finish, because Lucretia laughed, eyes a little watery, and pulled him and Davenport into a hug.

Davenport held on tight to his family.  He held on tight, and didn’t let go.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me shouting: here we go here wE gO HERE WE GO
> 
> comments and kudos make my day!!


	6. Horologium, the Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space Candlenights!!!!! Also, chocolate frogs, Fantasy Cards Against Humanity, and the Quibbler.

Space Candlenights was a bit more of a production, that year.  To get out of the castle without Umbridge being suspicious of their absence-- particularly their absence together-- all seven of the crew left on the Hogwarts Express with most the rest of the student body.  Davenport had never been on the train before, and for all the hype about it, it was... well, it was pretty much just another train.

The snack lady did have some weird illusion disguising her natural identity.  But when Davenport poked a bit at it, he saw some sort of... fanged, hairy monster concealed beneath it, selling candy.

Well.  That was her business, he figured, leaving her and her illusions alone.

Sue Li tossed Davenport a candy package: it was them, Lucretia, and Daphne Greengrass in the train car compartment.

“A chocolate frog?” he asked, raising it to eye level, and trying to peer inside the package.  Was it...  _ squirming _ .

“You’ve never had one?” Sue asked, puzzled but grinning.

“...no,” he said, peeling off the wrapping.  “Its, ah, not a thing in America. I suppose.”

Daphne shrugged.  “Just don’t let it escape.”

“What?” Davenport asked, unfolding the top-- and “Holy shit!” he squeaked as a small frog, made quite literally out of chocolate, leaped out of the wrapping and onto his face.

The girls in the compartment started to laugh as Davenport scrambled desperately to grab the frog, finally summoning it before it could escape out of the window into the winter snow all around them.

“Well,” he said after swallowing the still-moving frog.  “That was an... experience.”

Lucretia grinned, wild and free.  “You know it.”

\---

They took the Floo from the train station one at a time, spacing it out to make it look like the seven of them weren’t together-- or even headed to the same place.  Davenport waited until the rest of the Starblaster crew was through the magical fireplace before paying three knuts for a pinch of floo powder and stepping into the blaze himself.

He threw the green dust down at his feet, and around him the fire roared a brilliant, neon green.  Quietly, so as not to be heard in the hubbub of the rest of the station, he commanded, “Professor McGonagall’s Office!”

With a blinding flash, Davenport felt himself spinning spinning spinning, almost unpleasant but too exciting.  Half a second later he stumbled out of the chimney, tracking soot behind his feet onto McGonagall’s rug.

“Hello, Mr. Davenport,” she said as he straightened and dusted himself off.  “I believe the others are already in the forest. You’ll take the window, I presume?”

He nodded, pulling his broomstick from his book bag and un-shrinking it.  “Thank you.”

The professor nodded as she pushed open her window.  Davenport climbed onto his broom, secured his bag on his back, and double-checked his pocket to make sure his shrunk and lightened trunk was still in place.  Without a look back, he swooped out of the window, following Hogwarts’ walls and shadows, almost but not quite skimming the drifts of snow, out and into the Forbidden Forest.

The flight through the trees was quiet, exhilarating.  Davenport enjoyed the rush and sting of cold wind on his cheeks, the dodging game that was the tree branches that seemed to rise out of the black-and-white landscape from nowhere at all.  But the fun went by too quickly, for soon enough, the snow-covered silver hull of the Starblaster emerged before him.

He skipped out on the boarding procedure entirely, flying his broomstick up to the main deck.  Magnus was out there, busily carving something-- a chair or a table, by the looks of it.

Davenport couldn’t suppress a smile.  He soared silently behind Magnus, and shouted, “DAVENPORT!”

Magnus jumped a good two feet in the air, instinctively yeeting his chair leg off the side of the Starblaster and into the snow.  “AAAAAAAH!” he screeched.

Davenport just started laughing as Magnus looked down at him, panic etched into his face.

“...I probably deserved that,” said Magnus once he stopped screaming and started laughing.

“You did,” Davenport agreed, and summoned the chair leg back to him.

He left Magnus carving, and strolled through his ship, making sure everybody was onboard.  (They were.) Then, with eager hands and heart, Davenport walked to the steering wheel. He cracked his knuckles, and hopped into the seat, spun the wheel left and then right, getting the feel of the sleek metal beneath his fingers.

“Everybody ready?” he called.

“Hit it, Capn’port!” Lup hollered from somewhere on the deck.

“Let’s dance,” he murmured, revving up the bond engine and pulling the Starblaster up and away from the Forbidden Forest.  Lucretia kept watch for any dementors as they ascended, but there we no incidents, and then very suddenly they weren’t on the Plane of Magic anymore.

He watched as Lucretia grew about a foot in height, her hair turning white once again, returning to the same young adult state she’d spent the past seventy-five years in.

Davenport could feel his moustache regrown, tickling his top lip with unfamiliarity.  His hands fit better and more securely around the wheel of the Starblaster. But he hadn’t increased in height, well... really at all.

“A-dults!” Lup shouted gleefully, dragging out the word into multiple syllables.  “Fuck yeah, everybody!”

“Space Candlenights!” Magnus cheered, rushing over to the railing on the edge of the Starblaster deck and peering over the edge.

Davenport carefully adjusted the Starblaster into a slow orbit of the Plane of Magic.  Once their position was secure, he tilted his head up, staring out at the beautiful, multicolored planar system of Cycle 70.  He’d seen this same view every Candlenights for the past five years-- and innumerable times back at the IPRE, when they’d made it into their planar system and were still waiting for the light of creation to help them break past it.

He’d seen this view of the rainbow planes too many times to count.  But it still took Davenport’s breath away.

“So,” said Barry, edging onto the deck and looking up at the planar system, deck of cards in his hand, “Fantasy Cards Against Humanity, anybody?”

“Fuck yeah!” Lup said, grabbing Lucretia with one hand and Barry with the other.  “C’mon, everybody, let’s get the whole crew!”

Chuckling slightly, Davenport double-checked the Starblaster’s steering mechanisms, and followed Magnus into the kitchen.  The seven of them sprawled around the table, just happy to be back together again. There on the Starblaster, no sides mattered.  Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix were mere afterthoughts. Way up there in the planar system, their little family was all that mattered.

“Okay,” said Barry, pushing everybody their pile of white cards.  “The black card is: Greg Grimaldis stole blank. I’m judging.”

Davenport glanced down at his hand of cards.  The Idea of Sour Cream, Tom Bodett, Davenport!, [static], and Zone of Truth.

He pushed his white card into the pile in front of Barry.  Barry covered his eyes with his hand, and mixed the pile with the other.

“Just read them already,” Taako groaned.

Barry shuffled them a little bit longer, and then flipped them over one by one, reading them with barely concealed amusement.

“Greg Grimaldis stole... my virginity.  The light of creation. All the strong female characters.”  He paused as Lup and Lucretia high-fived. “Robes that say ‘juicy’ on the butt.  The ruling crown of Chilladelphia... where’d we even get that card?”

When nobody fessed up, Barry shrugged, and read the two last cards.  “The idea of sour cream. And... fifteen dollars. Okay, I mean, it’s fifteen dollars.  That’s just canon.”

“ _ Nice _ ,” said Taako, reaching out his hand for the black card.  “Gimme gimme.”

“You stole my line,” Lup said, all offended.  Taako just laughed, and dodged her punch.

“Fine, then, I’m going next.”  She drew a card with a grin. “Ooh.  Okay, here it is. I definitely ship blank with blank.  Hit me.”

Davenport drew a new white card from the pile, and smiled huge.  Oh, this was perfect.

He pushed his neat pile of two white cards in front of Lup, who took them with a very solemn nod.

When everybody had finally chosen their cards and drawn new ones, she began to read them aloud.  

“I definitely ship the world’s best flip wizard and a fantasy vacuum,” Lup said, snorting.  “Yeah, Koko, clean the fuck up!”

Staring his sister dead in the eyes, Taako grabbed the white card that read “vacuum,” and very slowly, tore it into shreds.

Lup stuck her tongue out at him, while Merle cast Mend on the card.  “Okay, next,” she said, flipping the next pile. “I definitely ship Capn’port with the Starblaster.”

“Hey,” Davenport protested, as Magnus burst into laughter.

Thankfully, none of the others were that embarrassing-- or, at least, until Lup got to the last one.

“Alright,” she said slowly.  “I definitely ship Plant Fetish McGee-- for those who don’t know, that’s Merle--”

“Thanks,” said Merle.

“Plant Fetish McGee with Davenport!” she managed, cackling through the words.  “Okay, this abso-fuckin’-lutely wins. Who played this?!”

She laughed into the uncomfortable silence as everybody looked at each other.

“Merle,” said Taako, pointing an accusatory finger.

“Lucretia,” said Lup.

“MAGNUS!” shouted Magnus, making everybody look at him.  “...no. It wasn’t me.”

“It was me,” said Davenport, taking the pile of cards with a small, smug grin.

“DADN’PORT!” Magnus shrieked.  “What the fuck?!!!”

All too soon, the holiday was over, and the crew of the Starblaster returned to their regular routines at Hogwarts.  Thankfully, it seemed that Umbridge had been on holiday too, because there were no new Educational Decrees on the walls or on the message board in the Ravenclaw common room.

But the new poster that  _ was  _ there was bright pink, announcing the next Hogsmeade date for February 14th: Valentines Day.

After two weeks off of school with his family, Davenport felt more like himself, and he didn’t resist as a smile crept across his face.  Perhaps, he figured, he might not sit out this Hogsmeade visit after all.

\---

The next morning at breakfast, a large eagle owl swooped down to Davenport, carrying a newspaper.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he untied the paper and paid the bird, very grateful he wasn’t being summoned by Umbridge to another tea party or social or mixer like the Inquisitorial Squad had been strong-armed into attending all year long.

He unrolled the paper over his toast, moving his cup of coffee to the side and picking it up.

When Davenport looked down at the newspaper, though, the full cup of coffee fell out of his hand, crashing against his plate and spilling onto his lap, burning hot.

Lucretia shouted a little, righthing his mug and grabbing her wand to siphon away the coffee.  But Davenport couldn’t find it within himself to react.

The cover story of the Daily Prophet:

“Mass Breakout from Azkaban.”

And further down, ten horrifying moving pictures in black and white.  

“Oh, gods,” Davenport whispered, handing the coffee-stained and dripping paper to Lucretia, grabbing a napkin to try and get the stains out of his robes.  She sucked in a harsh breath.

“This is... this is...”

“Yeah,” he murmured, peeling a bit of the sodden newspaper off of his toast.  “Yeah.”

But despite the hubbub of the Death Eaters’ escape-- and the whispered news from Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, that in essence meant “shit’s about to go down”-- nothing changed, really, at Hogwarts.  The status quo remained. Umbridge was still a pile of shit, Mandy Brocklehurst still hissed insults at Davenport during Quidditch practice, and all the professors piled on the homework.

Even going to Hogsmeade Village with Merle on Valentine’s Day couldn’t quite cut through the fog and the blear that had smeared itself over Hogwarts.

But then the very next morning, something snapped the tension and gray cloud over the castle like breaking a toothpick.  It wasn’t until after Charms that Davenport managed to get his hands on a copy, but the story really was as good as everybody was saying.

“The Boy Who Lived Speaks Out: A  _ Quibbler  _ Exclusive.”

The article and magazine itself became contraband via Educational Decrees before the day was over.  Davenport illusioned his copy into a sheaf of blank parchment, and firmly pretended to not see the rest of the castle buzzing over the magazine.

Indeed, early that night in the mostly empty Ravenclaw common room, he took off the illusion on the  _ Quibbler _ , and duplicated the magazine, spreading it on every side table and couch and securing a few copies in the bookshelves.

He couldn’t do much of anything.  But the least he could do, he figured, was make sure everybody in this school got to read the story of what  _ really  _ happened last spring between Harry Potter and Voldemort.

Tucking his final duplicated copy of the  _ Quibbler _ next to a Mermish-Goblin dictionary, Davenport stepped away, satisfied.  And with the common room beginning to fill up with students coming back from dinner, it was probably time for him to get an alibi-- just in case some of the seventh-year Ravenclaw Inquisitorial Squad members started poking about, asking who’d spread the  _ Quibbler  _ like that.

So he sidestepped the large group of second years who had just come into the tower, and walked out the door.  However, he’d only gone a few paces before somebody behind him barked, “Drew!”

He spun: none of his family would call him that.  Behind him, hurrying out of the tower, was Mandy Brocklehurst, a familiar magazine clutched in her hand.

“Hello, Mandy,” he said warily.

“What is this?” she demanded, thrusting the copy of the  _ Quibbler  _ under his nose.  “Is it  _ cursed _ ?  Are you trying to, I dunno, get the  _ rest  _ of us in trouble for having contraband?”

Davenport took a careful step backwards, sculpting his face into a neutral expression.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t even try that.  I saw you putting these everywhere.  What’re you doing, huh?”

He set his jaw a little.  “You’ve no proof of that.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “I  _ saw  _ you.”

Davenport pushed the  _ Quibbler  _ back towards her.  “It’s not cursed, Mandy,” he said, hating that he almost sounded... tired.

“Oh?” she challenged, clutching it tighter.  “Then what, you gonna take house points?”

“No.  No, I’m not.”

“Then--”

“I’m done,” he cut her off, and turned around, and began to walk away.

“I don’t understand you, Drew,” said Mandy, voice threatening and confused.  Young.

A smile quirked across his face, and vanished just as quickly as he rounded the corner and headed downstairs to the Great Hall.  She didn’t need to understand him. He’d do good no matter  _ what  _ the people around him thought.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo thanks for reading! As of writing this, it looks like this installation will be 8 or 9 chapters long. Thanks for sticking with me this far :))))) I love you guys!!!


	7. Centaurus, the Centaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trelawney is fired. Also, a prophecy, bad drama novels, and beings of the stars.

A few weeks later before Divination, Davenport followed Lucretia up the ladder to find Trelawney’s classroom in wild disarray.  Tea cups were strewn all about, some of them cracked or even shattered. Gauzy scarves and chunky, colorful jewelry draped the walls.  The ever-present incense wasn’t burning, and it was perhaps that that told Davenport and Lucretia that something was wrong.

“Um, Professor Trelawney?” Lucretia asked, moving aside a silk scarf embroidered with-- was that  _ crystalline robots _ ?  How silly-- and climbing into the classroom proper.  “You here?”

“Not for long!” wailed the professor, emerging from the corner of the room carrying a precarious armload of crystal balls and attempting to shove them into a paisley duffel bag.  “My services are ‘no longer required’ at Hogwarts, you see!”

Merle’s head thumped against the trapdoor as he climbed up.  “Uh, you good?” he asked Trelawney.

“No!” she almost shrieked.  “I have been cast out, as is the fate of all true seers!”

“By who?” Mele asked.

The scowl on Trelawney's face, making her bug-eyed glasses scrunch even higher up on her forehead, was almost comical.  But it still told Davenport everything he needed to know: Umbridge. The class inspections must have finally taken their toll.

“Can we help you?” asked Lucretia.  “Money, a place to stay--”

“No, no!” she protested, handing Lucretia a blue and silver patterned scarf.  “Here, dearie, for you. It’s your colors. Lady Magick will protect me.”

Davenport carefully stacked a few tea cups together, shaking a dead moth out of one.“Can we help you pack, or anything?”

Trelawney looked like she wanted to argue, but sighed instead, sweeping the cups out of his hands and into a large trunk.  And without words to disagree-- the silver badge on his chest meant that he should’ve been a million years away from Trelawney-- without the words, the four of them packed in silence.  Even Taako, when he climbed into the classroom thirty minutes late, helped a bit before fucking off again.

After the class hour was ended, most of Trelawney’s things were packed, except the stuff she’d pressed off onto the four of them.  The blue and silver scarf for Lucretia. The potted tea plants in the back of the classroom for Merle. Some of the fake costume jewelry (the stuff that couldn’t fit into the bag) for Taako.  And a single teacup for Davenport. He held it to the light-- the ceramic was so thin and finely made he could see the light from the tower windows filtering through it.

But that wasn’t the remarkable thing about the cup.  It looked as though it had been shattered, once, and then mended with veins of gold.  As Trelawney handed it to him, she murmured, “Mended more beautiful.” And he nodded, because how do you reply to that?

“When do you leave?” asked Lucretia, struggling to close the lid on Trelawney’s trunk.  

The divination professor sniffed a bit, but it sounded more sad than anything else.  “Before dinner, dearie. What do you three say, one last reading before I go?”

Merle and Lucretia looked at Davenport.  He squared his shoulders, and a ghost of a smile flashed across Trelawney’s face as she pulled a crystal ball from the depths of her duffel bag.  

As she set it on the table, the lights around them dimmed even though it was mid afternoon.  Davenport had never truly believed Trelawney to be an actual divination wizard, but now...

Her eyes went wide, her voice harsh.  Darkness cloaked the corners of the room, and she said:

“I saw all of existence, all at once.  I saw a dark storm, a living hunger eating it from within. But I saw a brilliant light heralded by seven birds, flying tirelessly from the storm.  I saw these seven birds land to roost in a world of brilliant light and blinding darkness. I saw seven birds spend seven years giving their all to this world.  And I watched the world be saved.

“I saw seven birds.”

Suddenly, the sunny afternoon shot back into existence like the guns Lup had found back on the robot cycle, decades ago.

“Oh dear,” said Trelawney, her voice back to normal, eyes shrunk back to their regular, human size.  She picked up her crystal ball, examined it closely. “My apologies! Something must be wrong on the, ah, other end.”

Davenport made eye contact with Lucretia and Merle.  They had a seconds-long, silent conversation:

‘Do we tell her?’

‘Maybe? Maybe not?’

‘No,’ Davenport decided, letting his crew know his decision with a firm nod.

“Well,” said Lucretia, somewhat awkwardly.  “I wish you all the best. I wish we could help you more...”

Trelawney shook her head.  “Thank you, my dear girl, but no.  You three had better go, actually. Wouldn’t want her highness herself to find you here...”

She hurried the three of them out of the classroom, the trapdoor above the ladder slamming almost onto Merle’s fingers as it closed with a bang.

“Well,” said Merle, examining his new tea plants, “that sucks!”

“Yeah,” Lucretia agreed, sadder.  “I mean, I didn’t like her, but still.  That seems a little... harsh.”

Davenport just nodded.  “The prophecy, though?”

“Seemed real,” Lucretia mused.  “I’ll read up on it. But if it was real... the dark storm sounds like the Hunger.  And the seven birds-- that kind of sounds like us.”

“And this plane is the world she was talking about?”

She nodded, half-shrugged.  “Probably. It’s the only plane we’ve spent more than a year on, and she did say there were multiple years.”

“Seven,” Merle interjected.

“Seven,” Lucretia echoed.  “Perhaps... are we going to be on this plane for seven years?  That’s close to what Lup and Barry’s calculations were our first year, right?”

“Yes,” Davenport said.  “Seven years.”

“Well,” said Merle.  “We better get busy if we’re gonna save the world or whatever in the next two years, huh?”

When nobody else laughed, Merle did, taking Davenport’s hand that didn’t hold the teacup.  He let himself smile a little bit. He did love that about Merle, so much.

\---

Coming out of the Great Hall after dinner in step with Sue Li, Davenport found himself walking straight into a scene from a bad drama novel.  Professor Trelawney stood in the middle of a circle of curious students and teachers, crying. Well, she was crying. Not the students and teachers, if you didn’t count Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were.

Umbridge stood in front of her, gleeful.  Her bags piled shapeless behind her, and she seemed much less brave, seperated from her tower and incense, shawls and scarves draped so heavily it looked like she was trying to become a hippie aesthetic.

“You can’t do this to me!” she pleaded.  “Hogwarts is my home!”

“Not any longer,” said Umbridge, smug.  Behind her lurked some of the Inquisitorial Squad, and Davenport instinctively angled himself so that his “I” badge wouldn’t be visible.  Without looking over, he knew that Sue would be doing the same thing.

“Stop!” shouted Professor McGonagall, stepping out of the throng and picking up one of Trelawney’s knocked-over suitcases.  She handed the divination professor a handkerchief. “There, there, Sybil. You will not have to leave Hogwarts.”

Trelawney blew her nose loudly as Umbridge spoke.  Her toad-like face had turned an unpleasant reddish color.  “You are not the High Inquisitor! I say that she leaves Hogwarts--”

“No,” said Dumbledore, sweeping into the room.  Davenport had never been more glad to see him. “Sybil, pick up your bags.  You will stay.”

“But the Head Inquisitor--!”

“May remove a teacher from their position,” Dumbledore twinkled.  “But not demand that they leave the castle.”

“But the new divination teacher will need her quarters!”

“Ah,” he smiled.  “I have already found a new divination teacher, and I’m pleased to say that he will be taking up lodging on the first floor.  Sybil remaining in her tower will be of no harm to anybody.”

“But--”

“I am pleased to introduce Firenze,” said Dumbledore, and into the hall behind him trotted a centaur, with head held high.  The crowd broke out into shocked murmurs. “He will be taking over as our divination professor, and he prefers quarters on the first floor.”

Umbridge’s red face went completely white.

“Let’s go,” Sue whispered into Davenport’s ear.  “Before she gets any madder.”

He nodded his agreement, and the two Ravenclaws wound their way through the throng of students who were all pressing into the hall, trying to see what the commotion was.

\---

It felt strange to go to divination without the hike to Trelawney’s tower and the omnipresent scent of incense.  Instead, Lucretia and Davenport walked down the narrow hallway to where Firenze’s classroom was.

Pushing open the door, they both froze for half a second, maybe less.  The room had been transformed into a similitude of the Forbidden Forest.  Dirt and shrubs carpeted the ground, and huge gnarled trees reached high up to a night sky of stars.

“Is it an illusion?” Lucretia asked, reaching out one hand to touch a tree.

Davenport scuffed his foot through some grass.  “I don't think so. No, I don’t think it is. Just some... clever magic.  Maybe messing with time a little bit.”

“Hm.”  She arched her neck, staring up at the night sky.  “That explains why it’s night in here, then. Davenport?”

“Yes?”

“I love magic.”

He couldn’t help but smile.  “Me too.”

“Everybody please take a seat,” said Firenze, trotting out of some of the thicker growth and into the crowd of students, most of whom took an automatic step backwards before catching themselves.  There were no chairs, so they all settled down onto a grassy knoll, heads tilted back up to the stars.

Davenport had only studied this planar system’s stars in Astrology, but it never ceased to amaze him how plentiful they were.  Sprinkled like salt, everywhere you looked.

“Centaurs do not concern themselves with the petty matters of human divination,” Firenze taught.  “Burning yourself on a pot because of Pluto, losing money because of Venus. No, we choose to look at the bigger picture.  Who can see Mars?”

“Me,” chorused most of the class, locating the large red dot far up above them.

“It is brighter than usual,” Firenze noted.

Davenport squinted up at the sky.  Yes, he supposed, it could be seen as brighter.

“There is a war coming,” the centaur said.  “Mars is bright. Conflict approaches.”

“Are there not any more  _ details _ ?” asked Lavender Brown, sounding a bit put out.  But then again, she’d always loved Trelawney. “I mean, what’s gonna cause this war?”

Firenze shrugged.  “We do not know.”

“Then what’s the point of knowing a war’s gonna happen, or whatever?”

He smiled in return.  “Future-telling is an imprecise art at the best of times, Miss...”

“Brown.”

“Miss Brown.  Every single sentient creature in existence has agency, and no stars may predict how they will act.  The stars only show the distant futures, the one that no action of man or being may change. And Mars has been bright for many, many years.”

They spent the rest of the class lying on their backs in the grass, trying to discern faint shapes and patterns among the stars.  Firenze seemed unconcerned when nothing was immediately clear, as centaurs themselves spent years perfecting the imprecise art.

“Mr. Davenport,” he said, after the bell rang to excuse them from class, and let them go to dinner.  “A moment of your time, if you will?”

“Sure,” he said, brushing grass and leaves off the back of his robe, and waving Lucretia and Merle to leave without him.

The centaur didn’t say anything for a long moment.  Rather, he just stood tall and majestic, and looked down at Davenport like he was analyzing something deep and hidden.  But then, he said, “You are also a being of the stars.”

Davenport blinked.  That was not what he had expected.  But still he managed, “Yes. How did you...”

Firenze smiled.  “We see many things in the stars, especially for our people.  And for people like us. Your people crave the stars just as we do, Mr. Davenport.”

He nodded a little.  “So you all... know we’re here?”

He shrugged.  “Perhaps. We knew that travellers would arrive.  But the distant star that heralded your arrival was ignored by most of the other centaurs in favor of concern over the ever-brightening Mars.”

“Oh.”

“And most of my people did not expect you to come as students.”

Davenport nodded.  “We... didn’t either.”

Firenze smiled.  “We are not so different, you and I.  Beings of the stars, seperated from their homes in the Forest.”

“Our homes?” Davenport asked, straightening his back.  He still didn’t even reach the centaur’s ribs.

“Yes,” he said.  “Your ship, yes?”

“I didn’t know that you were... aware of that.”  A thought flashed across his mind like lightning.  “We didn’t... we didn’t intrude on your space, did we?”

He smiled again.  “No, Mr. Davenport.  You would have been informed had you done so.  Your silver ship’s presence has driven away the foulest monsters from the depths of the forest, and we are glad to have it near.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to channel  _ Captain  _ Davenport, not just Student Davenport.  “Excellent.”

“That is not all I saw in the stars,” Firenze said quickly.  “The war, in Mars. You arrival, in the distant Stars. But the sun speaks, too.  Your people will change the tide of the war. Your people will define the outcome.”

“I thought the stars didn’t get that specific,” Davenport said.  “That otherwise they would defy agency, free will.”

The centaur shrugged a bit.  “Perhaps the sun knows that no matter what choices your people make, it will change the tide of the war.  Perhaps it knows that your family is not one for the sidelines.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked this, please leave a comment or kudos to let me know!


	8. Libra, the Scales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's Army is discovered. Also, alibis, dead-end escapes, and Ravenclaw's unification.

A few weeks after Firenze’s arrival at Hogwarts, Davenport found himself in the library, hacking through a Potions essay with Lucretia and Taako.  Umbridge had been on an almost-literal war path since the centaur’s arrival (rumor was, she hated non-human beings even more than she’d hated Trelawney).  And with the Head Inquisitor out and about, expecting the Inquisitorial Squad to be busily taking house points, well-- it made sense for the three of them to do their homework in a public space.  Couldn’t get in trouble for not taking points from troublemakers if you had the alibi of a Potions essay.

“Pass me  _ Herbs _ ?” Lucretia said, breaking the silence.  Taako rolled his eyes, but dug the book she asked for out from a large pile and shoved it across the table in front of her.

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

The silence and scratching of quills on parchment was interrupted by a buzzing coming from Taako and Davenport’s book bags.  The group splintered as both boys pulled from their bags magically enchanted stones that were pretty much pagers. (Davenport still couldn’t believe this plane had yet to invent stones of farspeech.)

In bright glowing letters, both stones read, 

“Report to the Great Hall immediately.”

“Been summoned by, ah, Professor Umbridge?” asked Lucretia, gathering her bags.

Davenport nodded.  “Yep. I... I don’t like that it’s at the same time as when, er... the  _ others  _ are gone.”

All three of them knew well what he meant: Dumbledore’s Army was meeting then, which Davenport only knew because Merle’d told him.  And told Lucretia, and told Taako, because he couldn’t keep a (small) secret to save his life.

Taako slung his bag over his shoulder, and adjusted his bedazzled hat that absolutely wasn’t in the dress code.  “Well, might as well go see what the hubbub’s about.”

Lucretia started stacking up the books they’d used.  “If things are, ah, happening,” she began, kind of worried, “I should get back to the tower.  Make sure I’m seen there.”

Davenport nodded.  “Make sure you tell your, hm, your  _ friend _ in the other house--” or, Daphne Greengrass, but in more, less specific words-- “And make sure they and their people have alibis set up, too.”

“Will do,” she promised.  

The three of them waited for a minute or so to let a handful of first years scurry through the the door to the library, and then followed them out.  Lucretia turned to the right, Taako and Davenport to the left. He didn’t look back as they hurried to the Great Hall.

Umbridge had summoned the Inquisitorial Squad, and Dumbledore’s Army was meeting.  Davenport double-checked that his wand was securely in it’s holster. No matter what was about to happen, he got the feeling he’d need it.

A small cluster of Inquisitorial Squad members looked over at the two of them as they entered, Umbridge in the center of it like an angry frog.  She nodded sharply. Taako shot her a peace sign.

“We waitin’ for anybody else?” he asked, sitting down almost lazily on the edge of a nearby table.

“No,” said Umbridge sharply.  “We’ve been given a tip about a large, illegal club that’s meeting right now in some hidden room.  On the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of the troll dancing. The informant will be there to let you in.”

“Sounds gucci,” said Taako, standing up.  “Let’s roll, squad.”

As they hurried through the almost-empty Hogwarts corridors and up the stairs, that small group of mostly fifth years (upper-years had Astronomy that night, Davenport knew, and might not have even been awake to get the message) clustered together.

Sue Li fell into step with Davenport, Taako falling to the back of the pack.  Her eyes were wide and frightened, and a piece of hair had come loose from her shiny black plait, dangling across her cheek.  

“You-- okay?” Davenport huffed as they finished climbing the seven flights of stairs.

Sue just nodded, face kind of pale.  “Yeah.”

He’d spent long enough reading the sometimes-hidden moods of six other people to know that, no, Sue wasn’t okay at all.

But there was no time to pull her aside and comfort her, to tell her that the year would be over soon, because in front of them rose a great tapestry of a troll pirouetting in a pink tutu.  Opposite it, a great wooden door with a large golden knocker. See, the corridor around it should have been empty except for Umbridge’s informant. But there was a cacophony of noises echoing down the hall, footsteps and shouts.  The whip of robes rounding corners.

Malfoy, leading the pack, looked back at the Inquisitorial Squad.  “What’re you waiting for?” he demanded, already starting to run. “Go get them!”

Quidditch training and endurance kicking in, Davenport ran.  But he didn’t sprint after the fleeing members of Dumbledore’s Army.  Instead, he pulled the door open, and raced inside.

There, pinned to a large board, was a list of names entitled “Dumbledore’s Army.”  He snatched it out of sight, but... he needed to give Umbridge something, after all.

Davenport held the paper carefully, lifted his wand, and cast an illusion.  Slowly, all the names on the list bled away to form nothing but an illegible mass of ink.  The only words left visible, because hell, they’d need somebody to blame that wasn’t the students-- the only words left were the title.

He stuffed it into his pocket, and Davenport ran out back into the hall to find Sue still waiting for him.  Her wand was out, and she jerked her head to the left.

“Heard somebody this way,” she said, voice hard but face afraid.  “Let’s go.”

Davenport nodded, wand extended, and ran with Sue around the corner.

They didn’t have to look hard, or far, before finding a gaggle of students trapped in a dead-end corridor.  Sue and Davenport skidded to a halt.

Standing right in front of them, blocking their access to the students, was Magnus.  He’d ripped the sleeves off his robes and uniform so every muscle was on full display, and his wand was out, anger in his eyes.

“Let us through,” said Sue, sounding unsure of herself.

“Stop,” Davenport heard himself say.

Magnus almost immediately relaxed, but didn’t lose the worried look.  

“What?” asked Sue, turning to him, not lowering her wand by an inch.

Davenport motioned to the kids trapped at the end of the hall.  “That stone’s not a stone, it’s a window just pretending,” he said, loud enough that Lup-- who he could now see at the end of the hall, wand out-- could hear him.  “You guys better not smash that and escape!”

There was a brilliant tinkle of falling glass from the end of the hall, and Lup shot him a grin, boosting a Slytherin fourth year out of the window and onto the rooftop Davenport knew to be just outside.  (Living in a tower gives you lots of time to admire the architecture.)

She boosted a second year Hufflepuff out, the kid already outside giving them a hand.  They could levitate themselves to the ground, break back into their own common rooms, and have an alibi before Umbridge even came looking for them.

“Why’d you do that?” asked Sue, staring at Davenport, her wand wavering and then falling to her side.  “I thought-- I thought--”

He held her gaze.  “I didn’t want to be in this Squad, you know that,” he said firmly.  “And you didn’t, either. Sue. This isn’t something I stand for. Is it something  _ you  _ do?”

She looked once again at Magnus, no longer flexing, and the cluster of third years being pulled out the window.  There was even a handful of first years, escaping through the window. No more than babies.

“No,” said Sue, quiet and shaking but sounding more resolved than Davenport had ever before heard her.  “No, it’s not.”

“Curse them!” shouted a voice down the corridor.  Davenport and Sue turned to look in shock. Racing towards them, arms and legs pumping, was Pansy Parkinson, her wand out.

Davenport spun towards Magnus.  “Caught you!” he crowed, as illusioned ropes shot from his wand to “tie” his hands and feet together.

“Oh, no!” shouted Magnus, falling overdramatically to the ground.

“What’re you doing?!” Sue hissed to Davenport.

“Play along,” he whispered back, jumping over Magnus and racing towards Lup, the only person left in the end of the corridor.  “Illusions.”

Sue and Davenport raised their wands in unison.  Sue hit Lup with a tripping jinx the Gryffindor didn’t even try to block, while Davenport’s spell just missed Lup--

Well, it missed Lup, but it hit his target.  Behind her, the shattered window turned back to illusory stone.  Like nobody had escaped that way.

Pansy caught up to them with panting breath, and helped tie up Lup, who had started to look a little angry, but mostly just amused.  Sue was trembling faintly.

“Nice job,” Pansy praised, grabbing Lup’s arm while Davenport and Sue grabbed onto Magnus.  “C’mon, let’s get these Gryffs back to Umbridge. I heard they got Potter and Weasel, too.”

“What about Hermione?” Lup asked, a sly grin creeping onto her face.

“I don’t know,” Pansy said, nose in the air like she wasn’t marching a tied-up prisoner along a castle hallway.  “I don’t concern myself with mudbloods.”

“You concern yourself with  _ this  _ one,” Lup teased, remarkably unbothered by her captivity.  Well, perhaps just a normal amount of unbothered, given that Magnus wasn’t actually tied up and Davenport was on their side and still had his wand.

Pansy jabbed her in the side with her wand, and the sparks flying meant she’d hit Lup point-blank with a spell.  Lup hissed in a breath, face contorting in pain.

Davenport was almost grateful when they reached Umbridge with their two captives.

The pink toad herself had almost set up court just outside the room that Dumbledore’s Army had been meeting in.

“Well done, you three!” she congratulated them as they marched Lup and Magnus over.  “We’ve caught quite a few of these miscreants.”

“I found this in their meeting room,” Davenport said, handing over the paper.  He heard Magnus suck in a sharp, very unsubtle breath next to him.

Umbridge looked it over.  “Dumbledore’s Army, hmm?”

He nodded.  “Guess so. Somebody must’ve spilled ink on the bottom bit, though.”

Umbridge waved a hand in the air.  “No matter. Bring everybody to my office, everybody except...” her beady eyes wandered through the captives, “Except Mister Potter here.”

As Umbridge marched a loudly protesting Harry Potter away, Davenport joined the throng of Inquisitorial Squad members and captives down the stairs towards her office.  As they went, he eyed over the crowd.

Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger.  Neville Longbottom who was friends with Merle, and Luna Lovegood the grade below him in Ravenclaw.  Barry and Merle themselves, both looking a lot less bothered than the others. Cho Chang, looking defiant, and Susan Bones, trying to look defiant but mostly looking scared.  Plus, of course, Lup and Magnus. Eleven captives in total.

Good odds for the Starblaster crew, he figured.  Everybody was there except Lucretia, who would be making sure No Man’s Land and the younger students who’d escaped stayed safe and out of Umbridge’s warpath.

Malfoy opened up the door to Umbridge’s office, and held it open as everybody else filed inside.  They lined up against the walls in a semicircle, everybody trying to avoid looking at the creepy kitten plates with the electric blue eyes.

Neville had a bloody nose, and Luna’s hair has fallen out of it’s braid.  Barry sported a small cut on one cheek, and Davenport felt his pulse quicken.  He didn’t like seeing his family hurt.

“Wow, Taako,” said Malfoy, eyeing their captives like pieces of meat.  “Your sister’s here. Hope you’re not as much a traitor as she is.”

Taako grinned at Malfoy, and Lup stuck her tongue out playfully at him.  “Certainly hope not,” he agreed. “But I guess that’s why she’s in Gryffindor.  I mean, we only caught Gryffs.”

“Plus Chang, and Bones.  And Looney,” Malfoy said.

“Hm,” said Taako, glaring a bit now.  “Yes, we did catch  _ Luna _ .”

Davenport cleared his throat.  “Is there a reason we need to hold these students here?  We have their names. And as far as I can see, all they’ve done is break the rule against illegal clubs.”

Malfoy looked agog.  “But Umbridge--”

“Is probably busy with Potter,” Davenport said smoothly.  “It’s not like these students are going to run off to the Forbidden Forest and live with the centaurs.”

Crabbe snorted a little.  “He’s got a point,” he grunted to Malfoy.

“Yeah,” said Taako, a little louder than was necessary.  “And I’ve still got homework. I don’t have time for this.”

Malfoy sighed, and grumbled, but eventually agreed.  Everybody was untied (or, in Magnus’ case, Davenport undid the illusion of ropes) and let go.  Most of the Gryffindors seemed lividly angry, especially Ron Weasley. Even Cho Chang looked upset.  But Lup shot them all finger guns as she left, which made Davenport feel a little bit better.

“We should stay here, at least,” said Malfoy importantly.  “Tell Professor Umbridge who was here.”

“How about one person from each house?” Davenport asked.  “We can pass along the information. It doesn’t make sense to have everybody stay.”

He sighed again, but eventually only Malfoy, Davenport, Victoria Frobisher-- a fourth year Gryffindor-- and Alys Grendfeld, a sixth year Hufflepuff-- remained in the office.  They sat in somewhat uncomfortable silence until Umbridge returned.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, seeming... happy?

“Of course,” said Malfoy, puffing out his chest.  “Drew over here has a list of the students we apprehended.  We--”

“That silly club doesn’t matter,” Umbridge said, waving a hand, and grinning like a Cheshire cat.  Overwhelming, unnatural. “Dumbledore’s Army, they called themself! The old coot confessed to everything, and  _ you  _ four and the first lucky students to know Headmistress Umbridge!”

A weight like a stone sunk to the bottom of Davenport’s stomach as he and the others offered their congratulations to Umbridge on her new Headmistress position.  As soon as he could, he made his excuses, and fled back to the Ravenclaw tower.

Lucretia sat in the silent common room, surrounded by a gaggle of students-- many of whom Davenport knew were in Dumbledore’s Army-- all of them looking over to Davenport as though to ask  _ ‘What happened?’ _

He sighed, but kept his shoulders steady, level.  “Dumbledore's gone. Umbridge is Headmistress, now.”

One of the first years started to cry, hiccups echoing through the eerily silent tower.

“Well, then,” said Luna Lovegood, tilting her head a little bit towards Sue.  “I think we’re all in agreement! Perhaps we must profess support to the new Headmistress, but that doesn’t mean we must fight among ourselves here, does it?”

“I--”

“Sorry,” said Mandy, looking down at the floor, scuffing her heel against the stones.  “I shouldn’t have been, well, a bitch to you guys.”

“None of us want Umbridge in charge,” said Cho, face hard.  “If nothing more because she won’t let us learn. And none of us can stand for that-- so we’ll stand together.”

“Ravenclaw will be united once more,” said Luna, like it was a statement irrefutable.  “She will not force us apart.”

“Never again,” said Lucretia.

A smile crossed Davenport’s face, mirrored only by Sue’s.  

“Well, then,” he said.  “I’ve had years of defensive and strange magic practice in- er- America.  Who wants to learn?”

That night, the Ravenclaw tower swelled with determination as they linked together, wills united.  They would learn defense together, and anything else that could be taught. They would learn and grow as one.

Hogwarts was not a sentient building, not in the typical sense.  But she could still tell when her students clung hard and fast to the resolves that created her.  And Hogwarts watched as Ravenclaw united, and held fast. She watched as they held fast and did not let go.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooooooooo! thanks for reading I love you guys!!
> 
> as of this posting, it's looking like 10 chapters total for this bad boy :D


	9. Fornax, the Furnace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OWLs, Umbridge's office, and interrogations. Also, the youngest ever Minster for Magic, Ravenclaw quidditch, and revolutionizing magical opera.

Fireworks exploded throughout the castle, a gift from the Weasley twins.  Davenport found the whole thing hilarious, even though he hated to see how...  _ unhinged  _ it was making Umbridge.  Her face had been red for hours, which couldn’t be healthy.

Maybe she’d have a heart attack and save the rest of them the trouble.

See, the fireworks were a great example of just how well Umbridge’s takeover had gone.  The student body-- aided by the teachers, ghosts, Peeves, and almost every other sentient being on the grounds-- had fought back with a passion.  Dungbombs littered the corridors. In this case, fireworks echoed within the classrooms and over the Black Lake. 

Davenport never would’ve thought he’d say so, but he appreciated the chaos.  Even with the clear separation of the student body against Umbridge, the Inquisitorial Squad was  _ supposed  _ to be taking house points from miscreants.  Except for Malfoy, really none of the Squad was doing it.

And, of course, Ravenclaw had pretty much unmarked Davenport and Sue Li as castouts.  He’d never realized how much he enjoyed being able to sit in the common room and read a book without being bothered.

But among the hundreds of Educational Decrees that had gone up over the past few weeks-- banning everything from fireworks to plastic cutlery-- a new poster appeared on the Ravenclaw message board.

The fifth year students would be meeting with their head of house to discuss their future career opportunities.  Umbridge would attend meetings as she saw fit.

In Magnus’ words: well, tits.  Davenport really, really wished that Flitwick knew he and his crew were aliens who would be leaving this planar system in two years.  He didn’t want to go in and have literally no clue what he would do in two years-- knowing full well that he’d be on the Starblaster, moving on to planar system number seventy-one.

He flopped down on the couch by Lucretia, who looked up from her hands.  She’d been trying to learn to cast spells with one wand in each hand, just like she could write with both hands.

“What’re you gonna do for the career thing?” he asked.

“There’s pamphlets over there,” she gestured.

He sighed, and leaned forward to pick up a stack of career pamphlets and flip through them.  “Troll tamer? Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes?”

“Just choose something that’ll let you take classes you want to take next year,” Lucretia said reasonably.

“But that feels...” he sighed.  “That feels like cheating.”

She smiled, a crooked little thing.  “Then make up some own career. Like, I want to use magic to design a spaceship and fly it to other worlds!”

Davenport laughed.  “That’s... not a bad idea.  Or I could just say I want to be a stage magician with illusions, or whatever.”

“Revolutionize the opera,” she suggested.  

“What’re you going to do?” he asked, trying to ignore how that idea was actually... a good one.

Lucretia tucked both of her wands behind her ears, crossing her arms in front of her face so they were on opposite sides of her body.  “Oh, I’m going to be the Minister for Magic,” she said, quite confidently. “The youngest ever.”

Davenport chuckled a little bit.  “Before you’re even graduated?”

“No,” she said.  “But I’m on track to graduate early.  That’d give me a year and a half to campaign for office.”

“We’re going to vote... for a sixteen-year old?  Just to clarify?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled.  “I think  _ Minister for Magic Director  _ has a nice ring to it.”

He laughed, leaning against the back of the couch.  “If anybody can do it, it’s you.”

“Thanks,” said Lucretia, tossing the pile of useless pamphlets back onto the table.  “It’s nice to know I’ll have at least one vote.”

All jokes aside, though, he couldn’t get the idea of revolutionizing magical opera out of his head.  He could practically see it: a stage that moved as per command. Audience seats that could float, or zoom closer to the singers.  Changing voice reverberations with some clever, wavelength-bending magic.

And even the background, the scenery, the costumes!  Tosun V had done good work with Minor Illusion and Disguise Self, but their levels of magic just couldn’t compare with the wealth of magic at his fingertips on the Plane of Magic itself.  Here, almost anything was possible. Anything at all.

Scenery that dripped from the ceiling and surrounded the viewers, illusioning the viewers into era costumes and chairs.  Smells and sights from the stage to enhance the opera, every bit as musical.

And so Davenport walked into his meeting with Professor Flitwick after lunch a week later with his head held high, and his arguments prepared.

Thankfully, Umbridge hadn’t bothered to come to his.  Some small relief, but he’d take any relief he could get.

“Hello, Davenport,” said Flitwick as Davenport climbed into a chair on the other side of his desk.  “Have you given any thought to your future career?”

“Yes,” he said confidently.  Just like his interview for the Institute of Planar Research.  Just like when he passed his pilot’s test. Just like when he won his way to be the Captain of the Starblaster.  And here he was, claiming an entirely different life. “I’m going to revolutionize magical opera.”

\---

Two days later, Fred and George Weasley transformed the Charms corridor into a literal swamp.  They stole their broomsticks back, laughed in Umbridge’s face, and soared off into the sunset. Peeves, the resident poltergeist, even bowed as they left, vowing to take up their pranking mantle.

Davenport couldn’t help but be impressed by the theatrics of it all.

But their escape made Umbridge crack down on the student body even harder.  She tried to take house points every way she turned, and Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy and Warrington really got into the Inquisitorial Squad thing.

Davenport did his best to stay out of it.  He had more important things to worry about: the fate of the planar system, passing his OWLs, and perhaps most importantly... the upcoming final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

It was a clear and sunny day: perfect Quidditch conditions.  After Ravenclaw had re-united, tensions on the pitch all but evaporated.  When a bludger whizzed towards Davenport's head, Mandy was there, batting it at Ginny Weasley.  When Davenport snatched the Quaffle from the hands of Katie Bell, he knew without looking that Emilia would be there to catch his throw.

They did well, and well, and better-- until something seemed to change within Gryffindor’s previously-abysmal keeper, Ron Weasley.  It was like something within the kid changed, up there alone in the air. Because he started blocking goals, and blocking, until the two were tied.  Arihi was matching him block for block, and both teams’ chasers were playing as hard as they possibly could.

In the end, it just came down to the seekers: Ginny Weasley for Gryffindor, and Cho Chang for Ravenclaw.

It must have been a lucky day for the Weasleys.

Because as Ron tired and the Ravenclaw chasers’ hours of practice paid off, as they started to make the occasional shot-- Ginny swooped low over the Hufflepuff stands, snatching the snitch out of the air and slamming into Zacharias Smith.

Davenport wasn’t too sure that bit was an accident.

The applause thundered, and even though they’d lost, Davenport was pretty proud.  210-300 wasn’t bad, especially when more than half of Ravenclaw’s shots were thanks to him.

The Ravenclaw team swallowed the pain of their loss, waved to the crowd, and flew to the ground to congratulate the Gryffindor team.  The crowd’s roar of “Weasley is our King,” alternated verses with “Weasley is our Queen,” swept them off the pitch.

“Well, we did good,” said Roger Davies in the changing room as everybody shucked off their sweaty Quidditch gear.  “Everybody take a shower, get some food, and congratulate yourself-- we did real bloody good this year!”

“Hell yeah,” said Emilia, giving Roger a fist bump.  “Uh, Hogsmeade, anybody?”

“YES,” said Arihi loudly.  “Firewhisky, hell yeah!”

“I’m not hearing this,” said Roger, grinning.  “But I won’t stop you.”

The two girls whooped loudly, and led the way back to Hogwarts.

\---

Davenport’s Ordinary Wizarding Levels arrived as all final tests do: with much grumbling from the students, and an overabundance of coffee.  But despite their protests, the first OWL still appeared on every fifth year’s schedule: the Astronomy OWL, one warm, May midnight.

He was set up with a telescope between Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger, which was a weird dynamic, all told.  None of them were allowed to speak, but he could practically feel the tension between them.

Well.  Really none of his business.  He leaned over his star chart and marked in the position of Mars, which did look rather bright.

Perhaps an hour into the test-- halfway done!-- there was a commotion from the ground far below them.  As one, the fifth year testers peered over the edge, ignoring the test administrator’s pleas for them to return to their work.

Far below, like ants on the ground, five tiny dark figures spilled out from Hogwarts and moved to Hagrid’s hut.  The jets of light they shot at him shone a grotesque green and red against the quiet darkness of the night.

“No!” shouted somebody, rushing out from the castle--

The fifth years watched Umbridge and her cronies shoot Professor McGonagall.  Four stunners, straight to the chest.

The students had had their wands taken before the exam, in order to prevent cheating.  Davenport figured that if many of them did have their wands, more curses would have been sent down-- but not towards Hagrid or McGonagall.

He got the feeling that if they’d had their wands, Umridge would’ve fallen then and there.

“Forty-five minutes left in the test, everyone,” said the administrator.

Davenport ground his back teeth together, hating how  _ useless  _ they all were.  But he wanted to continue taking Astronomy, which meant he had to pass that test.

He clenched his jaw, and fit his eye to the telescope, almost blindly filling out the chart.  His only focus was making sure he didn’t accidentally fill in the sky of Tosun V.

And so Davenport finished his test while far below, the school lost it’s most beloved professor to the depths of St. Mungo’s Hospital.  Far below, Hagrid fled, Fang around his shoulders. And all around, the world spun through the stifling night.

\---

Somehow, morning came, bringing with it the History of Magic OWL.  Davenport just made up the answers: he had spent every History of Magic class for the past five years reading or having a nap.  This wasn’t a subject that would impact him much over the next two years he’d be in this plane, after all.

And it wasn’t like he needed to be a walking textbook, either.  Thank goodness that things like the library existed.

So all in all, the test was boring.  About halfway through, Harry Potter collapsed, and had to be taken out.  Davenport toyed briefly with the idea of collapsing himself, but was beaten to the punch by Lup, who winked at him as she was “roused” and allowed to leave the testing room.

Well, now that two people had escaped by “fainting,” a third would be too suspicious.  So Davenport sat in the too-hot classroom over his bullshitted answers, fiddling with a quill until the proctor dismissed them.

All outside the Great Hall where the testing had occurred were throngs of fifth year students, delighted to be finished with their OWLS for the day.  Davenport rose on his tiptoes, looking for anybody he knew in the crowd-- Merle or Lucretia or Sue.

But it was Taako that found Davenport first.

“Umbridge is calling the Squad,” he said to Davenport under his breath, words sharp and brittle, ice-like and jagged.  “Grab Sue or whatever, and c’mon.”

Davenport ducked around a pair of Hufflpuff girls holding hands and found Sue engaged in an animated conversation with Mandy Brocklehurst.

“We gotta go,” he told her.

“Why, what’s wrong?” asked Mandy.

Davenport kind of looked to the side.  “Umbridge...”

She nodded.  “Alright. Uh, don’t go to the dark side, Luke!”

“You know Fantasy Star Wars?!”

“ _ You  _ know Star Wars?!”

“Come  _ on _ ,” said Taako, stalking over to Davenport and grabbing him and Sue with a pointed eye roll.  He didn’t let go of their arms until the three of them had caught up with a cluster of fifth year Inquisitorial Squad members on the second floor.

“What’s going on?” Davenport asked the group at large.

Malfoy stepped forward, looking younger and more scared than Davenport had ever before seen him.  “Umbridge just summoned us. She’d put up spells around her office: somebody just broke in. And she wants us to go apprehend whoever it is.”

“Coolio,” said Taako, pulling his long braid around his shoulder.  “Uh, let’s go then!”

They were a motley crew, young and afraid but still determined (if not for the best of reasons) as they marched through the halls of Hogwarts.  For the most part, they were empty: the younger students were still in class, and none of the OWL or NEWTs students wanted to go  _ back  _ into the school when the warm summer day was so inviting.

Which meant that a group of students in the hall outside Umbridge’s office was pretty darn suspicious.

It happened too fast for Davenport to protest.  Goyle grabbed Luna, and Crabbe grabbed Ginny. Warrington caught Barry with one hand and Merle with the other, and Theodore Nott got a tight hold on Lup.  Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “If girl-weasel’s here, so is boy-weasel,” he said, and turned around with drama that would make Snape proud.

“Let go of me!” Ginny shrieked, trying to stomp on Crabbe’s feet.

“Let them go!” somebody shouted, and into the fray ran Neville Longbottom, wand out and eyes ablaze.  Davenport could admire his bravado, but it was no match for Pansy Parkinson and her leg-locker curse. After a minute or so, Malfoy walked back up, Ron Weasley and Magnus in front of him, wand at their backs.

“Gimme your wands,” said Taako to the captives, sounding almost bored.  Ginny spat in his face, but in the end, he got all their wands, and pushed them lightly into his pocket, more than half them poking out the top.

That wasn’t good, like, physics or anything.

And Taako had been a double-major, one of which involved physics classes.  No, he was doing this on purpose.

Neville looked to the side.  “So, are we just, standing around, or...” 

“We, Mr. Longbottom,” simpered Umbridge as she stalked down the corridor, “will be going into my office while I figure out just  _ what  _ you think you are doing, breaking into the  _ Headmistress’s  _ office.”

“You’ve got no proof,” Ginny Weasley spat.

“Don’t I?” said Umbridge, unlocking her office door and pushing it open, revealing Hermione Granger, staring at them in abject horror-- and Harry Potter, his head in the Floo Network, clearly trying to contact somebody.  “I’d say this is plenty proof enough.”

After a brief scuffle, Pansy was restraining Hermione, and Umbridge had a wand pointed directly at Harry.

“Now, Mister Potter,” she said, voice sweet as poison, “Just who were you trying to contact in the fire?”

“Nobody,” he growled.

Umbridge tilted her head to the side, and as though on cue, the door creaked open.  Into the office swept Professor Snape, all sneer and greasy hair and billowing black robes.

“Hello, Professor,” said Umbridge.  Davenport couldn’t stop a surge of annoyance that Snape  _ saw his students  _ being held captive and did nothing.  “Do you have any more veritaserum?”

His lip curled.  “No. Did you use the last bottle I gave you?”

Truth-telling potion.  What in the planar system had she used a  _ bottle  _ on?  Davenport almost didn’t want to find out.

“Can you make more?” frowned Umbridge.  

“Certainly,” huffed Snape.  “After it’s month-long cooling cycle, it will be prepared.”

“You are  _ useless _ !  Get out!”

“Gladly.”

But before Snape left, Harry shouted, “He’s got Padfoot!  He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden!”

“Does this mean something to you?” asked Umbridge, predatory.

Snape’s lip curled, in Harry’s direction this time.  “Next time I want drivel spouted at me I will give you a Babbling Concoction, Potter.  Good day.”

And he swept out of the room.

“Well, then,” said Umbridge like she was psyching herself up.  “I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. The Minister will understand that this was necessary.”  And she levelled her wand at Harry.

“What’re you doing?!” squeaked Hermione, twisting against Pansy’s grip on her wrists.

“Only a little Cruciatur,” the Headmistress smiled.  “Cruc--”

“No!” shrieked a girl, but it wasn’t Lup or Pansy or Hermione.  Instead, Sue burst from the group of the Inquisitorial Squad, her shoulder ramming into Umbridge’s arm, forcing her Unforgivable Curse wide.

“You little--” she spat, turning the wand on Sue.  

“Stop, stop!” shouted Hermione, physically pulling Pansy forward so the two girls blocked Sue from Umbridge’s wand.  “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! We were trying to contact Dumbledore.”

Somehow, she fell for it.  And a few minutes later, Umbridge and a disarmed Harry and Hermione walked out of the room, leaving the student captives alone with the Inquisitorial Squad.

“Well,” said Magnus, cheerful, “Let’s get this party started!”  

And he wrenched his arm out of Warrington’s grip and punched the guy in the nose.  

Lup let out a whoop, her hands lighting on fire even without her wand as she thrust her head back against Theodore Nott’s nose.

Even wandless, it wasn’t a fair fight.  Lup and Magnus wrecked shop, Ron Weasley kicked Malfoy where it hurts, and Ginny literally stole Goyle’s wand to cast the Bat-Bogey curse on him.  Davenport helped Sue to her feet, and out of the melee.

It was over before it even began.

“Oops,” said Taako, plucking the taken wands from his pocket and handing them all to Lup.  “The wands fell out of my pocket.”

“What a shame,” said Davenport, unlocking the door behind them.  “Let’s get going, then.”

“ _ What _ ?” said Ginny.

Luna just smiled at her.  “Oh, Taako and Drew and Sue don’t mean us any harm.”

“But-- but--”

“Sometimes people do things they don’t want to do,” she noted, calmly.  “It looks like we’ll have to go help out Harry and Hermione. Do any of you want to come?”

Taako shook his head terseley, and Davenport understood without words.  Taako had spent too long getting in close with the Death Eaters to ruin it now.  

“I... I can’t,” Sue managed, and Davenport understood that too.  She’d been braver than he could’ve ever expected her to be.

But Davenport?

Gods, he was tired of living a lie.  

Yes, he was an illusion wizard.  And yes, he was bloody good at it.  But he’d spent a year cosying up to Umbridge and the Death Eaters, and all he’d gotten out of it was sad, and angry, and alone.

Davenport had fought in wars, back on Tosun V.  He knew how to strategize. 

“Taako,” he said, almost tersely, “Can I...?”

“Go for it, my dude,” said Taako, leaning against the wall next to Goyle’s unconscious body.  “Taako’s  _ good out here _ .”

Taako was good at this, was the thing.  He thrived. But Davenport... it was breaking him apart under the weight of pretending to be a Ministry supporter, day by day.  And he’d just given Davenport permission to do this.

“Count me in,” he said, palming his wand.

“Uh,” said Ron.  “But you’re, like... in her Squad?”

Davenport plucked the silver “I” off of his chest, and it felt like throwing a down thousand pounds as he dropped it to the floor.

Luna smiled.  “Well, then, everybody.  Shall we go?”

\---


	10. Hercules, the Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Department of Mysteries. Also, elevator buttons, tres horny bois (but not really), and illusion magic.

Their motley crew tramped through the halls of Hogwarts.  Two Weasleys, Luna, Neville, five-sevenths of the Starblaster crew, on their way to rescue Hermione and Harry, go to the Ministry of Magic, and save the life of Sirius Black.  

“Isn’t he, like, a serial killer?” asked Lup.

Ron shook his head.  “Nah. I mean, they said he was, but he was framed.”

“I feel like I’m missing out on a lot of context here,” Davenport said.

“Mhm, probably,” said Ginny with a shrug, twirling her wand between her fingers.

“So...”

“I’d, er, also like to know what’s going on,” said Neville.

“Okay,” said Ron.  “Well, er. Sirius Black got framed by Peter Pettigrew, who was also friends with Harry’s parents.  He betrayed them. And, uh... he’s a Death Eater.”

“Okay,” Lup said slowly.  “Well, that clarified  _ very  _ little.”

Ginny sighed.  “Sirius is Harry’s godfather, Dumbledore’s actual, er, anti-Death Eater organization has been at his, er, location now.  He saw Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries--”

“He’s a  _ seer _ ?!” Magnus asked, excited.  “Woah!”

“--not sure,” said Ginny.  “But we’re going to the Department of Ministries, gonna kick some Death Eater ass, y’know.  All in a day’s work.”

“I like her,” said Lup loudly, offering Ginny a fist bump.

Ginny bumped fists with a loud “Shazam!”

If anything, Lup’s grin grew even larger as the nine of them stalked out towards the Forbidden Forest.  

They almost literally ran into Harry and Hermione on their way in.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed.  Davenport thought that was a fair statement.  Both of them were covered in blood. “What  _ happened _ ?!”

“Giant, centaurs,” said Hermione, with a pretty badass shrug.  “The usual.”

“What’re you guys doing here?” Harry exclaimed, side-eyeing Davenport in particular.  “I thought Umbridge--”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lup, rolling her eyes.  “We busted out of there ay-okay, babe. And we brought Dav!”

Davenport waved a little, and Hermione shot him a look.

“Aren’t you with the Inquisitorial--”

“He’s been working all year to help us out,” Lup shot right back.  “When they busted Dumbledore’s Army, it was only with his and Sue Li’s help that we got all the little kids out.”

“Sue?” asked Hermione, brow furrowing.

Ginny nodded.  “Yeah. She, like, physically attacked Umbridge in there.  Bad _ ass _ .”

“Okay,” said Harry, like he was trying to swallow this new information.  “Okay. Well, you’re not all coming with me.”

“Uh, yes we are,” said Hermione, looking very serious for all that she was still covered in blood.

“Of course we are,” said Ginny.  “You don’t have the rights on saving peoples’ lives, Harry!”

“But--”

“But what?” asked Lup, popping her hip.  

“But I don’t want you guys to get hurt!” he burst out.

Lup, Magnus, Davenport, Merle, and Barry all tried very hard to not look at each other.  But in the end, it was Magnus who broke down in laughter.

All the non-Starblaster crew just stared at him.

“I’m good,” he managed, still giggling.  “I’m good. It’s just...”

“What?” asked Harry.

“I’m used to protecting people,” said Magnus, trying to hide his snickers.  “I’m good at it!”

Harry looked like he was going to argue, but then looked at Magnus’s muscles (he had ripped off the sleeves of his robe so that his arms were on full display).  They made a fairly convincing argument.

“Well, you can’t all come,” he said finally.  “Luna, you’re a fourth year.”

“So?” asked Lup.

Whatever Harry was going to say was interrupted by a thestral, which waltzed right into their little gathering, and started trying to lick the blood off of Hermione’s robes.  Everybody jumped, even those who could see it.

“Let’s ride the thestrals,” Luna suggested, petting the creature’s head.

“There’s only one of them,” Harry said.

Ginny was staring in completely the wrong direction.  “What? Where?”

“You can only see them if you’ve seen somebody die!” Magnus provided.  “Care of Magical Creatures, baby!”

“Oh.”  She blinked.  “So... you five, and Harry and Luna have all...”

“Watched people beef it, natch,” said Lup lazily.  

Ginny looked a little bit more unsettled by that, but managed to nod anyway.

Another handful of thestrals wandered out of the forest.  After quite a bit of arguing, enough thestrals for all of them turned up, and they climbed aboard.  The kids who couldn’t see them had quite a bit more difficulty than the others, but that was to be expected.  Even though it was pretty funny. But still, after a long and windswept flight, the eleven of them touched down at the public entrance to the Ministry for Magic.

The phone box really,  _ really  _ wasn’t made for eleven students.

\---

When they finally tumbled out of the too-small space and into the Ministry atrium, there was a couple minutes of confused nametag-passing and people-jostling as everybody shook out their cramped arms and legs.

“So which way?” asked Ginny, eyeing the spookily empty room.

“This way,” said Harry, stepping forward.  The rest of the group followed him as he led them past the check in desks, down winding hallways, and to a large golden elevator, and jammed the button for floor zero.  “Sirius is in the Department on Mysteries.”

“How do you know?” asked Lup, casually casting prestidigitation on Hermione’s robes to get the rest of the blood off them.  Hermione looked like she wanted to ask what the spell was, but just barely restrained herself.

“There’s all these prophecies,” he explained, “That I saw.  And that’s where they’re stored.”

“Wait,” said Davenport.  “This plane-- er, this  _ Ministry  _ stores prophecies?”

Harry shrugged.  “Apparently.”

Ron nodded.  “Yeah. Half of what the buggers in the Department on Mysteries do is weird as hell, anyway.  Makes sense.”

Hermione looked over at him.  “How do you  _ know  _ that?”

“Dad’s always telling us stories about them.  I heard they had a weird time jellyfish--”

“ _ Fisher _ ?!” Magnus gasped.

Ron looked at him.  “What?”

“No, they don’t have Fisher,” said Lup, rolling her eyes.  “We fed them  _ yesterday _ .”

“Oh yeah.”

Davenport rolled his eyes, too, but only a little.  The eleven of them had another struggle as they all crammed into the elevator together, nobody wanting to wait in the empty hall by themselves.

“Somebody hit the button,” said Ron, face squished against one wall.

“Which one?” asked Merle, short enough that his nose was almost poking the buttons.

“Zero!” said Ginny from the corner, where Lup had put her on her shoulders to try and fit them all inside.

“Zero buttons?” said Merle, turning his head to look at her in abject confusion.  As he did so, there was a chorus of high-pitched beeps.

“What... was that?” asked Hermione suspiciously.

“...that would be the buttons,” Davenport sighed, just managing to peek around Merle’s head and see that he’d accidentally pressed them.  “ _ All  _ of them.”

A loud chorus of swearing (mostly from the Starblaster crew, and even more specifically, mostly from Magnus) rose as the elevator slowly began to descend, stopping with an ear-splitting “ding!” on each floor.

But finally,  _ finally _ , they tumbled out of the golden lift on the bottom floor of the Ministry for Magic.  In front of them rose a large, grand door, embellished with silver designs. When Davenport looked at them, they swirled together to form the words “Department of Mysteries.”

“Okay,” said Harry, stopping them before anybody could grab for the doorknob.  “Neville, Luna, will you guys stay out here and keep watch?”

“N-no,” said Neville, looking a little surprised at himself.  “You-know-who’s not out here, is he? I’m not very good at spells, but I’m going in with you.”

Harry looked to Luna, but she just smiled and shook her head.  He sighed a little. “Okay. I guess... buddy system, everybody.”

There was a sudden scrambling as everybody tried to grab who they wanted for their partner.  Somehow Davenport found himself the eleventh wheel, the odd man out. It was probably because he didn’t try to find a partner, but still.

“Okay, Drew,” said Harry, a little uncomfortably.  “Uh, you go with Merle and Magnus.”

“Nice!” said Magnus, giving Davenport a high-five.  “Tres horny bois!”

“What?” asked Hermione.

At the same time, Davenport said, “That’s Taako.”

And Barry said, “Gross.”

There was a pause, and then all the partnerships kind of nodded at each other.  “Let’s go,” said Luna. “Does anybody have a preference about which door we ought to go in?”

“Straight ahead?” Hermione offered.

“I’m not straight!” said a veritable chorus-- Lup, Merle, Magnus, Luna, Ginny, Davenport... even Hermione and Harry might have said something, although they were kind of drowned out by Lup’s triumphant shout.

“I don’t have a head!” said Magnus triumphantly, hands on his hips once everybody was quiet.

Everybody looked at him.

“But you do,” Ron said after a long moment.

“Let’s just go in,” said Barry.

Magnus held a random door open, and everybody filed through.  Davenport grabbed for Merle’s hand, and held on tight. It wasn’t that he was scared, per se.  He knew all about fear, and even more about jumping blindly into the unknown.

But six of the eleven people they were breaching the void with didn’t get a regeneration at the end of the year.  If any of those school kids got hurt in the Department of Mysteries, or gods forbid, killed... they wouldn’t come back again.

Well, Davenport figured, peering up into a room of floating planets spiraling around a giant sun, he’d just have to make sure that none of that happened.

\---

The planet room had three doors branching off of it.  They split up, two or three groups per door. Davenport, Magnus, and Merle, followed Ginny and Luna through the door to the night, and almost immediately fell down a series of steep steps.  At second glance, it wasn’t steps, just a empty courtroom, dark and cold. At the bottom of the quasi-pit a black veil swayed in a draft that Davenport couldn’t feel.

“Prophecies aren’t in here,” said Ginny.

“No,” Luna agreed, looking down at the veil.  “But perhaps something worse lurks within. Or better, depends on who you ask.”

“What?” asked Magnus.

“Let’s just move on,” said Davenport, using his Captain voice.  

Everybody looked over at him, a little startled, but followed him out of the next door.

The five of them rounded door after door: a room made entirely of pink crystal; a corridor with icicles dripping from the ceiling, the drops freezing before shattering against the floor; a giant auditorium without gravity and sprinkled with stardust; a room with the walls lined in something uncomfortably like intestines; and then right back into the room of floating planets.

And then they did it again.

And again.

“We’re going in circles,” Magnus said after the third time through, and just like it was summoned by his statement, the next door they hurried through brought them right back into the room of spinning doors and blue lights.

“Ugh,” said Ginny, kicking at the ground as the room began to spin again, effectively making them lose which door they’d already gone in.  “We’re wasting time.”

The door swirled around them, and suddenly, Davenport got it.  No magic could reshuffle rooms like this: that is, no magic except illusions.  And now that he’d thought it, he could almost smell it’s faintly-perfumey smell on the air around them, permeating deep into the walls of the Department of Mysteries.

The whole thing was neck-deep in illusion magic.  

It reminded Davenport of the stories his older cousins would tell him late at night when they were all supposed to be asleep in their warren.  Powerful mages and sorcerers, masters of illusion, who created mazes so cunning and lifelike that they caught themselves in the trap by accident.

But Davenport knew that the Department of Mysteries was a trap, and he knew that it was an illusion.

“I’ll stay here,” he said, without even consciously choosing to do so.

“You sure?” Merle asked, glancing over at him, a little worried.

He shot him a look, and used the message cantrip to speak silently in his head.  “If we want to get out of here,” he said, “I need to unpick the illusions trapping us inside.  Go.”

“Gotcha,” he replied, out loud.  Which kind of ruined the point of the spell, but, oh well.  “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, as Magnus lead the charge into another door, seemingly chosen at random.  All around him, the doors spun, blue lights flashing. Davenport held his ground, and squeezed his eyes shut.

This was an illusion, he reminded himself.  And if he could remember that, then everything else would turn out okay.

He forced himself to relax, to sense the magic all around him.  He was a solid bright point in the middle: the magic energies of his crew and family and friends were disappearing into a cobweb of illusion magic.

Davenport raised his wand.  Without words, he  _ called  _ to the illusion magic, reaching for it, pulling towards it.  Thin gossmers drifted his way, like curious children, circling around the tip of his wand.

He could already feel the shake of his arms, the sweat on his brow.  

But he couldn’t stop now.  Davenport held his arm aloft, and kept summoning the illusion magic.  Draining it out of the Department of Mysteries bit by aching bit. 

As his arms shook, Davenport opened his eyes.  A brilliant ball of golden light was gathering at the tip of his raised wand, and all around him, the spinning room was slowing, slowing, slowing, the lights calming their frantic pace.  He could no longer sense the magical energies of his family deep within the Department, but he would do what he could.

He would stay in the middle of it all, drowning in illusions and magic and the effort of holding himself together against the powerful forces that designed the chaos.

He would pull it inside of himself, and let the others have a chance at saving Sirius Black deep within the depths of the Department.  Davenport kept his eyes open as he fought against the magic all around him, pulling it in, dragging it.

Just a little bit longer.

He could do this.

He  _ would _ .

\---

By the time a door opened again, the golden ball of magic Davenport had captured had engulfed his entire wand, as well as the top part of his arm.  It’s presence felt akin to the light of creation: it burned, but it healed. His body shook keeping it aloft, but he knew he couldn’t let it go.

“What’re you doing here?” somebody shouted, squinting at him against the light.  “Davenport?”

He forced himself to look.  “...Professor Lupin?”

“What’re you doing here?  Where’s Harry?”

“They all went in,” Davenport bit out, entire body trembling with the exertion of containing the magic.  “To find Sirius.”

“I’m right here,” said a man with lanky black hair and sallow cheeks, looking nothing short of horrified.  “Oh, Merlin--”

“It’ll be fine,” said Lupin quietly.  “Davenport. What’re you--”

“Pulling out the illusion magic from the Department,” grunted-- Mad-Eye Moody?  Alright, then. “Smart kid. Letting everybody else be able to get anywhere.”

He just nodded.

“Here, can I help?” offered a woman with bubblegum pink hair as Sirius, Lupin, and a bald, dark-skinned wizard he didn’t recognize darted through a door and further into the Department of Mysteries.

“Here,” he managed, and she reached out her wand to tap the tip of his.  Suddenly, everything was golden light, burning and brilliant.

Somebody was screaming, in the distance.  But all Davenport could see was himself and the pink-haired woman, trapped in the golden bubble.

“--no!” he managed, yanking his arm back, the huge blob of magic creeping further up his arm, covering his elbow.

“Yeah,” said Mad-Eye Moody, grabbing the woman by her shoulder before she could trip.  “He’s gotta do it himself, Tonks. Come on. Kid?”

“Yeah?” Davenport managed, pulling out just a  _ little  _ more magic, just a  _ little _ \--

“Don’t pull out too much.  Don’t kill yourself doing this.”

And then Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks were gone, vanished through the door taken by Sirius and Lupin.

Slowly, painfully, the ball of golden light crept up Davenport’s arm.  He forced himself to watch it every inch, to keep pulling and pulling and pulling out the illusion magic from the Department of Mysteries.  His family was in there.  _ Merle  _ was in there.  Six Hogwarts kids who wouldn’t come back to life at the end of the cycle were in there, too: he’d be damned if he didn’t give them every chance he could.

And so Davenport  _ pulled  _ and  _ pulled  _ and  _ pulled  _ until the ball of magic crept up his shoulder and around his neck and down his torso.  He kept his eyes open until the magic he called to covered his head and then everything was white and gold, spinning fast, so fast.  Vertigo in his stomach and screams in his head.

He couldn’t see, couldn’t move.  All he could do was keep pulling and pulling.

Davenport held tight to his wand.  And he didn’t let go. Not even when distant voices echoed, not when a burning pressure built at his feet and crawled up his body.  A million deaths by fire.

He held on and on and on until the golden chaos all around him spiraled it’s own way into darkness.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, I lied... 11 chapters, for sure


	11. Ophiuchus, the Snake Holder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Department of Mysteries, in one form or another. Merle explains. Pansy covers her bases. And the world spins on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys I meant to post this last friday and forgot it was friday. good times

When Davenport opened his eyes again, he fully expected to be on the Starblaster again.  The cycle over, he’d spent the past two years dead-- but he didn’t. Instead, he cracked open his aching eyes to a soft warm glow, not unlike the illusion magic he’d almost drowned within.

“Hey, Dav,” said Merle, softly.

Davenport fumbled into a sitting position, head bouncing pinwheels, and tried to blink away the spots in his vision.  “Wha’ happened?” he managed.

“Well,” said Merle.  “You kicked ass. Held back the Department enough that we could get in and out safely.”

“Everybody’s okay?”

“Well...”

“Merle.”  Davenport looked up, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the bustling Hospital Wing all around them.  “Merle, did somebody...”

He sighed.  “Sirius Black.  Dead.”

“But-- but weren’t we there to  _ rescue  _ him?”

He shook his head sadly.  “Yeah. I mean, we were. But he wasn’t there at all.  Turned out old Moldy-shorts had set the whole thing up as a trap.  Trying to get Harry to take down some prophecy.”

“What?  Why--”

“Guess you can only take down a prophecy if it’s got your name on it.  Speaking of,” Merle winked, “Lup grabbed one down. Said it had all of our initials on it.  And that we should all hear it at this week’s meeting.”

“Great,” he said, leaning back against the pillows on the hospital bed.  His limbs felt heavy, like they’d been filled with wet sand. “Is everybody else alright?”

“A little banged up,” Merle said softly as darkness crept into the edges of Davenport’s vision.  “But they’re strong kids. They’ll be just fine.”

Davenport awoke what felt like years later, his mouth dry and the world fuzzy.  Almost immediately, a large and somewhat blurry white shape entered his vision. He thought it might be speaking, but he couldn’t be sure.

Something cool trickled down his throat, and little by little, the shape came into focus, like adjusting a telescope to just the right spot.  But instead of stars or planets rising above him, it was the imposing figure of a frowning Madam Pomfrey.

“What’s going on?” Davenport tried to ask.  It came out as more, “Wasgoinon?”

Even so, she seemed to understand.  “You almost killed yourself, Mr. Davenport,” she sniffed, bustling around the hospital bed he lay in.  “Hmph! Undoing magic is one thing that ought to be taught here so you all stop going and getting yourself hurt doing it!  And perhaps lessons in why you ought to  _ not  _ try and undo the most complex magic in the Ministry!”

A smile flickered across Davenport’s face, tired but sure, and he drifted out of consciousness once again to the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s complaints.

\---

He woke again to voices, loud but trying to be quiet.  Footsteps, heavy but trying to be muffled. In the background, Madam Pomfrey begged whoever it was to “Please,  _ Merlin _ , let him  _ rest _ !”

Davenport cracked open his eyes.  Night had fallen, and the soft torches lit all around the Hospital Wing flickered shadows across the walls.  He pushed himself up on one (sore) elbow to try and see the cluster of people in the doorway. 

“He’s awake!” one of them shouted, and Madam Pomfrey grudgingly let them inside.  

Much as it hurt to do so, Davenport couldn’t help but smile as the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team rushed into the Hospital Wing.

“Drew!” shouted Emilia, pushing past a glowering Madam Pomfrey and dropping to her knees by his bedside.  “Dude, what the  _ hell _ ?!  You look like shit!  You look like--”

“No profanity!” Pomfrey shouted over the din, but the Ravenclaws ignored her, dragging Davenport up into a great hug.  Mandy was pressed up against his side, and he was only crying a little bit as they let him sink back to the pillows of the hospital bed.

“What happened?” Roger Davies asked, running a hand kind of nervously through his hair.  “We heard it was something at the Ministry, but nobody’ll tell us what it was.”

Davenport pushed himself back up onto his elbows.  The other six members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team-- Roger and Emilia, Arihi and Mandy, Cho and Kathryn-- looked down at him.  He wanted to see their faces when he told them.

“Voldemort’s back.”

Arihi gasped, hands flying to her mouth.  Emilia and Kathryn just stared. Cho squeezed her eyes shut so tight it looked painful.  Mandy stumbled backwards over nothing, and Roger froze, one hand halfway to his head to run through his hair.  

After a very long moment, Arihi managed, “How d’you know?”

“I was there,” he said, struggling a little to fix one of his pillows.  Kathryn yanked it into a better position. “It’s... I don’t know. How much do you want to know?”

The Ravenclaws looked at each other, and it was as if a silent conversation was occurring over the top of Davenport’s hospital bed.  Each arguing the pros and cons of this hidden information with nothing more than a meaningful glance. Finally, though, Cho spoke. “Tell us,” she said, voice thick.

They were Ravenclaws, after all, Davenport thought with a small and quiet smile.  There was nothing they hated more than not knowing.

And so, with faltering words and careful tongue, he told them what Merle had told him just hours earlier.  Voldemort, at the Ministry of Magic, there to steal a prophecy. Harry Potter, thrust into the middle of a fight he didn’t want to be in.  And Davenport and all the others on the periphery, like moons orbiting a planet, doing all they could to keep it on its axis and course as it sailed through the unknown of space.

He told them how he pulled down the illusion magic of the Department of Mysteries, and Roger gaped.

“That’s... that’s  _ NEWT  _ level magic,” he managed after a long moment where he looked like a fish with his mouth wide open.  “That’s even  _ beyond  _ NEWT magic!”

Davenport smiled.  Of course the seventh year would be thinking about his upcoming NEWTS.  They were just children, after all.

\---

Davenport had other visitors, too, over the next week in which Madam Pomfrey insisted he remain in the Hospital Wing.  He would have protested, but OWLs were over, and he had no great urge to sit around in all of his classes doing final projects.  The hospital matron assured him that any teacher who tried to fail his final would have to go through her.

It was rather intimidating, all things considered.

Mandy and Sue came to visit, holding hands.  They’d talked it over, they told him, and figured out that they weren’t so different after all.  That Sue’s reasons for being in the Inquisitorial Squad-- family-- were pretty close to Mandy’s reasons for staying well away from it.

“And that made you date?” asked Davenport, almost teasing, well used to it after decades of Lup and Barry and years of Lup and Lucretia.

“Well, it certainly didn’t hurt,” Mandy replied baldly, and kissed Sue on the cheek.  Sue blushed.

But when Sue came back again two days later, she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t with Mandy.  In fact, she was accompanied by perhaps the last person that Davenport had expected to see with her.  Sue walked into the Hospital Wing in step with Pansy Parkinson.

“Hello,” Davenport said almost warily, as the strange duo approached his hospital bed.  He was a little relieved to see that Sue and Pansy hadn’t suddenly become as chummy as Sue and Mandy had.  “What brings you two here?”

“We wanted to come visit you,” said Sue, chipper to the point of falsehood.

Pansy looked at the ceiling, at her shoes, anywhere but at Davenport.

“...Pansy?” he prompted.

She huffed a sigh.  “We came to congratulate you.”

What was going  _ on _ ?  “I... on... what?”  Pansy had always seemed a loyal member of the Inquisitorial Squad-- always willing to obey Umbridge-- always eager to catch the members of Dumbledore’s Army.  She shouldn’t be congratulating him on helping to thwart Voldemort’s plans.

“We came to congratulate you,” she repeated, glaring at him a little, “On surviving.  You know, after you got taken  _ hostage _ by Dumbledore’s Army.  Even though,” Pansy sniffed a little, nose in the air, “They left you in the lobby and made you work for them.  How horrible. Dastardly, even.”

... _ oh _ .

“Are you giving me an... alibi?” he asked, almost certain that that was what Sue and Pansy were doing.  After all, they had been the only members of the Inquisitorial Squad still conscious when Davenport switched sides in Umbridge’s office, when he switched sides to go and fight with Dumbledore’s Army at the Ministry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Pansy with a remarkable air of indifference.  “Why would you need an alibi? You got taken hostage and that’s what the whole Inquisitorial Squad and all of Slytherin knows to be the truth.”

So an alibi, then.  

“I appreciate you telling the truth,” he said, unable to prevent the slightest note of sarcasm from entering his voice.  “And I can take it that I would be, hm...  _ welcome  _ at any further meetings of the Inquisitorial Squad?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Sue blithely.  “I would be too, except I told them it’s a little too much time commitment for me.  You know, gotta keep up those grades.”

This time it was a real smile that stretched across Davenport’s face, sore and exhausted though he was.  “Good to know. Taako’ll be glad to have the company, I bet.”

Pansy made a face, and Davenport raised an eyebrow.  After a beat, she said, “I’m glad you’ll give him somebody else to bully.  He and I’ve been having a ‘subtle insult’ contest at Draco for  _ weeks  _ and he’s winning.”

Davenport grinned.  “...Pansy.”

“Drew.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know what you’re--”

“No,” he interrupted, speaking over her.  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Why are you doing this for me?”

She crossed her arms across her chest with a huff.  “Have you ever thought about what  _ I  _ want, Drew?”

“I--”

“No.  You haven’t.  I’m a  _ Slytherin  _ for a reason, and that’s ‘cause I know how to roll the dice so it lands well for me.  Only me. And I’ve  _ seen  _ the direction that the Death Eaters are going, and I’m... I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sound great.  Pureblood supremacy? Uh, yes please. But-- wait.” Davenport had opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again.  “But they aren’t gonna win. I’m smart enough that I can tell that even now. It’s too dark, too gruesome. And even if they do win they aren’t gonna be smart enough to hold onto their power.”

“So what?” he asked.

“So I’m playing both sides,” Pansy said, like it was obvious, her voice dropped to a whisper even though the rest of the Hospital Wing was empty.  “If the Death Eaters win, I’m set. Pureblood supremacy and all that, even if I’ll have to marry a guy. Which, gross. If Dumbledore wins, I’m set too.  Because I’m doing you one hell of a favor right now, and if Dumbledore wins,  _ that  _ is when I want you to pay me back.”

“That’s very...” he paused, searching for the words.  “Calculated of you.”

Pansy stepped back, nodding, a small grin playing across her face.  “Oh, yes. No matter how things shake out, I should be just fine.”

“Well,” said Davenport, after another long pause.  “Good luck, I suppose. And here’s hoping I’ll get the chance to return that favor.”

\---

The year faded out with little ado.  A day to pack trunks and say goodbye, a feast, and a presentation of house colors.  With the Inquisitorial Squad taking points right and left, Hufflepuff had taken the lead, even with the last-minute points from Dumbledore for everybody’s part at the Ministry of Magic.  

Dumbledore didn’t give Davenport any points for being at the Ministry, which was a little rude, but probably for the best.  Especially since it now appeared that-- with the help of Pansy and Sue and the alibi they had set up-- Davenport would be playing the long game with Taako of pretending to be on the side of the Death Eaters.

And getting house points from Dumbledore might’ve clued them in to the fact that Davenport wasn’t quite as ‘on their side’ as they’d assumed.

But the points the newly-reinstated Headmaster gave weren’t enough to diminish Hufflepuff’s lead, and they took the cup.  Merle looked particularly smug about it, and Davenport whooped and clapped along with the rest of the hall. 

With Umbridge gone from Hogwarts, there was no need to take the Hogwarts Express away from school, but Davenport rode it anyway.  His compartment was crammed with the Ravenclaw quidditch team and Sue and Merle, Lucretia tucked into a corner playing exploding snap with Mandy and Lup and Barry trying to convince Emilia that they once robbed a vampire and lived to tell the tale.  Even Pansy and Theodore Nott stopped by, for an incredibly strange and somewhat awkward conversation.

Davenport smiled, though.  He rode the Hogwarts Express back to Platform 9 3/4 with the family he’d grown to know over the past seventy-odd years, and the friends they’d come so impossibly close to over the past five.  

Nothing was quite solved yet. Voldemort was out on the loose, gathering his Death Eaters all around him.  Hogwarts had begun to fracture under the weight of the two opposing sides.

But for now?  For this moment?

Davenport squeezed Merle’s hand.

For now, they could just enjoy the ride.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!! We are officially DONE with Dav's year! I've never written from his pov before and I had a blast. A HUGE thanks to all of you guys for reading this far in the series and supporting me :D your comments and kudos make my day
> 
> you can expect to see year 6 (title still undecided, but Barry's the narrator!) coming out next Friday!


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